White Asters

It's been an intentional choice of self-care to be here at the cottage for these first days back in Canada.  I haven't really done this before - stayed "away" just a bit longer.  Usually I succumb to the pressure to be "back," responding to various requests for my time and attention, now that I'm "available."  All of which is understandable, and I actually very much want to re-engage quickly, having been so far away for a period of time.

But.

This time things felt different.

Partly because, despite being more or less stationed here at the cottage since early June, I really haven't blocked off any personal time except for when the whole family was here in July.  Preparing for this past visit, plus several speaking engagements, plus preparing to officiate two weddings, not to mention the regular stuff of ministry life as a Missionary in Residence, made for quite a demanding summer.  And I'm not complaining.  I chose it, and I love what I get to do.

And.

My body is more seasoned, which has significant advantages, but also some greater needs for maintenance.  I just don't bounce back from 24 hours of travel and 12 hours of time difference like I did 20 years ago.  So there's that.

So.

Looking at and praying over the calendar for the fall, there was this strong leaning towards pushing pause before jumping right back into city life again.

Pause to stop typing and just be still for a moment.

Then.

As I write I am on the deck on a slightly breezy and very pleasant September afternoon.  It's quiet.  One of those 'no human-made sounds' moments that have such restorative powers.  It's Sunday, and on Sunday NOT working is very much the obedient thing to do.  I embrace this.

The plethora of white asters that surround the cottage this time of year remind me of the lilies of the field that 'do not work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are.'  Matthew 6:28  Which reminds me that it's okay to just 'be' and let God take care of the rest.

The rest.

The resting.

I suppose it's evidence of the deeper places of lingering workaholism and perfectionism that I still find it necessary to make such a thing of taking time to do nothing for a while; that it's actually still so hard to do; that I have to make such a point of it; that I feel the need to write about it.  It reveals to me the work still needed in my soul, I feel.  The letting go and letting God.  The releasing of control for outcomes.  The surrendering of the desire to impress.  The defiance against the fear of not being enough that pushes and drives and demands.  

The asters know nothing of this.  They just are.  In abundance, dancing.  Soaking in the sunshine on a sabbathy afternoon.  And I am with them.