Journal No. 001 | Light Through the Shutters
On warm mornings, striving, and the quiet places where God meets us.
I woke up to light leaking through the shutters, bird dogs rustling at the end of the bed and no plans for the day. The thought of an americano brewing and the warm morning air pulled me out of bed and into our morning walk. Fawns resting in our neighbors yard perked up as my dogs plowed their way down the street. For all of their charms, walking on leash isn’t one of them.
After six months in Texas, I’m starting to get a sense of the heat everyone has been talking about. 90 degrees by 7:30 am. And honestly, I love it. The nostalgia of warm summer mornings makes me feel a familiar sense of home. Of all the places I’ve lived, the heat isn’t the outlier, but so far the dry air seems to be. Even the dogs have been taking a bit to acclimate.
But we’re here to take advantage of it, the morning walks serve more than one purpose — conditioning for Ernie’s pads being top of the list. Every year on the prairie, we start the trip the same way. Bandaging up torn feet after a first wild run blazing through the landscape. Our English Setter with no sense of self preservation in the presence of a sharptail and no regard for the heat. So here we are, taking a few minutes a day to attempt to work up to it. Our walk took us a mile and half through our neighborhood trails, up the big hill and back to the house with two very tired pups.
On to my to-do list.
Between working on the house, the garden, groceries, trip planning, and business as usual, I can fill just about any day and my mental cup in a matter of minutes — even on the weekends. Heading to church was the only thing capable of interrupting me from my productivity spiral.
Sitting in the back of a small country church, I was able to breathe for the first time in a few weeks. We’ve been on the road constantly and it wasn’t until I found myself back here that I finally exhaled. I watched the light dance through the stained glass windows and reflect off the ceiling’s traditional wooden beams as the music echoed softly through the room. The preacher shared about the things in our life we worship instead of God and how they leave us exhausted and empty. I felt that in my soul this morning.
A worn-out kind of tired that only I could manufacture for myself.
It got me thinking about how all the productivity, planning, goals, checklists, achievements and the pursuit of building and crafting our idea of a perfect life often reward us with emptiness instead of fulfillment. It’s such an odd realization because in the height of the effort it feels like you’re fully capable of willing your purpose and plans into existence by sheer determination. But for all the doers and over-doers like me, it’s safe to say it never ends in satisfaction. The checklists are never ending, and there’s always a new goal to chase up ahead.
Growing up, my relationship with God looked a lot like that, too. A never-ending list of things I thought He wanted to me to do and be. Things to avoid. Ways I could be better. Failures to hide and a performance to sell.
It wasn’t until I was a little older that I truly experienced the love of God. It wasn’t all at once. It was over and over again. When I was going through the darkest seasons, in moments of fear, in seasons of joy, and in the quiet beauty of ordinary days. I slowly realized He had never left my side. He had always met me there.
He sent His son to die for me, so that I could be freed from striving and free to experience restoration to a real relationship with the God of the universe. Jesus traded His life so I could have mine. Abiding in Him, enjoying His presence, and following in His steps, was the path to true flourishing and giving His love to others was where I could true purpose. Nothing left to prove — it was never about that at all I just couldn’t see it at the time.
I lose sight of that more than I’d like to admit and I need a gentle reminder that His presence and way of life is where I find peace and purpose that lasts. It’s not something I have to build for myself or can built for myself. It’s something I already have because of Him.
It’s in those moments when I’m immersing myself in creation, working with my hands, and reflecting on God’s love that I feel most at peace. In a world of endless information and opportunity, it’s a welcome relief to be drawn back into stillness, the natural world and the present moment. It's a complete juxtaposition from getting swept up in productivity, production and striving. It’s a heavy weight to carry — one we weren’t meant to.
“He will hold me fast.”
An old hymn to quiet my thoughts and a welcomed reset. The idea of balance always feels elusive. Maybe because it sounds like having and holding it all. Sometimes we need to be reminded that balance looks like letting go and remembering our ambitions for ourselves are too small and that God has more waiting for us when we walk with Him.
“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” - C.S. Lewis
And maybe that’s why I’m drawn to gardening, watching the dogs run on the prairie, the last cast of the trip, the way the sun dips down under the horizon and the fire crackling at camp, palmettos underfoot, long days that leave you feeling physically exhausted but so full in heart. Laughter around a dinner table when you know you’ve long-overstayed your welcome and minutes that can only be measured by something outside of yourself.
It’s in those places, I tend to be drawn back to balance, peace and purpose. It’s another place I find God to speak just as clearly as in church and sometimes more loudly. So I’ll keep coming back and I hope you will, too.