Today feels like an annoying drip from the kitchen sink.
I woke early, but instead of heading to the coffeehouse to read and indulge, I just spent the morning staring at the ceiling. And after a pillow-adjusting of sorts, my eyes saw the freshly-purchased Season 9 of Friends and I spun through a few more episodes.
And as I’ve walked through the house this morning, I have found plenty of things I need to do. The daisies in the living room need to be thrown out, the roses in the kitchen need more water, I need to do laundry, I still have a stack of work things to be deciphered, and the glasses are stacking up near the kitchen sink.
Saturdays are my Days of Motivation. The things I don’t have time for during the week are put off until today. This is when I straighten, clean, organize, and do things in Excel. But it’s as though I simply don’t care. Ambivalent. Unconcerned. Frustrated at the day’s lack of luster.
But what grips my heart soundly is the knowledge that I hate this complacent day. My life isn’t moments of unconcern surrounded by carefree living. I have relationships, goals, things-going-on, and learning to do. And when I hit these walls, these bits of frustration- it burns me up inside.
It’s as though I’m sitting unmoved by the realness of life.
And I hate it.
And after reading something from Kim Thomas this afternoon, I am struggling between throwing this book at the wall and running away from everything I know right now.
We have dipped our toes into the waters of faith, but kept a safe distance from the demands and responsibilities of deeper waters. We just keep our lives moving. As long as we are controlling things satisfactorily, our spiritual needs are reduced to a simple good night prayer with fingers crossed. “God,” we pray, “don’t woo me to the deep end.” Our Bible study is reduced to a dose of chicken soup or a precious moment. And the only time we are really pouring our soul out in the throne room is when we have turned it into an emergency room.
Our sins have been downgraded to “oops” and “oh well” as opposed to being shalom breakers that separate us from fellowship with God. Thus, we feel no need for a sacrificial Savior, just a good pal who puts the amen on all of our plans. Our casual low-maintenance integration of Christ into our schedules is like a cheap surface coat of paint that peels after a few rains. Then the rawness of our lives is exposed to the elements, and we run for a quick patch-me-up prayer and go on our way.
So, whether I want to admit or not, her words hit home.