Running On Empty

I’ve been whizzing around for the last few weeks, Being Busy. Lots of things are going well and I’ve got loads to be thankful for.

But

I don’t feel right. I’m pooped. And edgy. And kind-of out-of-sorts.

I could say it’s because I’ve been travelling. My stomach’s playing up and I’ve been working.   I’ve been back to Belfast and it’s hard to adjust. Summer’s coming to a close and I’m nervous about the future.

Those things are there. But they don’t explain the nagging discontent, the sense that I’m fraying and without a centre.

The fact is, I’ve been coasting along in my own strength.

Not in obvious ways.  Like, I’ve checked in with God and ticked off my daily reading.   I’ve prayed and stuff, (mainly for other people). I’ve asked for special help for talks and events. But these apart –  in the nittygritty of daily life – I’ve been Going It Alone.

What does this look like?

Necked a morning Bible espresso (but not given it time to percolate).

Yep,yep,yep – read this before, got it already.  Next!

Instead of having an ongoing conversation with the Lord and inviting Him into every aspect of my day, I’ve bookended my activities with perfunctory prayer.

Please help me with the day ahead. And all the er- stuff.  Sorry, can’t stop.

Instead of  asking Jesus to direct my steps, I’ve taken them (and then told Him about them).

So I’ve already made those phone calls.  Hope that’s ok – and would you mind blessing them.  Ta

I’ve been sending up Christmas lists instead of love-letters.

Wednesday I’ve got this so can I have a spoon of wisdom and some peace.  Thursday I’m writing X so inspiration would be nice and Friday I need patience.

I’ve been looking to stuff for identity: tasks, check-lists, routine, ‘treats.’

I feel weird.  Must be I’m working too hard.  I’ll take today off.

Nope – still weird.  I’m lazy: need to Do Things.  I know, I’ll clean and sort out the bank stuff and call Mum and deal with the insurance and..

 

Overheating and then blowing the engine. Running the batteries flat and then kicking the fender.

No wonder I’ve stalled. I’ve been powering on Emma-juice instead of Jesus-diesel.

So as I wait (again), for Divine AA, I pray.

Lord, I’m sorry.  I keep thinking I can do life alone.  I keep reducing our relationship to a contract, where I turn up once a year to collect what I’m ‘owed’.

But what I need isn’t more stuff.  Or even the help to do it.  

I need the beautiful, generous, thrilling God who won’t be contained or controlled.  Whose greatest gift is Himself. 

Jesus, I need You.  

 

 

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