It’s harder to focus today – maybe because my brain and heart knows that this is our last full day in my soul’s home.
I’ve been in Estes Park, CO for a few days, though never long enough. I drove in on Saturday and got work done that inspired me and left me seeing how more will come. Yesterday morning was particularly lovely. I woke to watch the mountains painted pink on my lodge patio. I had cup in had and steam rising and tears flushing my skin as I spoke with my Father so honestly and tenderly. The wind gently wiped away some tears and He wrapped me whole.
I have finished almost two chapters as of this morning, along with completing the first draft of my intro. I publicly invited you and the people you know to be a part of this with me, by being my focus group of interview participants and I’ve already received interest and encouragement.
None of us can do this life completely alone. Support and family look different for everyone and I am speechlessly fortunate for my myriad of champions continually by my side. New and old, these relationships keep me stepping forward each day.
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I think today is harder because I’m getting ahead of myself and worrying about what would happen if the creativity stops. What if the words stop coming? What if I let myself get distracted by laziness or convenience when I get home?
We all know the danger of ‘what if’ statements.
They are brutal to growth and downright suffocating to creativity and bravery.
So I am getting it out here. Writing about it so I don’t carry it within to allow it to seep and spoil.
So I will stay here, sitting at my make-shift desk at the bay window in this home-felt lodge’s room. It’s more windy each day so balcony time is limited, but I am enamored. The best way to describe me – here – is euphoric. Driving into these mountains Saturday, higher and higher, deeper into the crooks and crannies of the boulder-boarded town, my lungs expanded and I was more free, more at peace, more home.
I won’t take this last day for granted, yet I won’t punish myself for lessened results. If I write less of the final product, that will be okay. My measure is not in the word count. My success is in the coming. The getting away and allowing myself to work and begin and lean into the calling. Therein lies my treasure and prize.
For this was the beginning. All transformative works start somewhere. Mine was on Golgotha. It began there, and it resurrected. It starts fresh and new every time my eyelids flutter open for another day. New mercies each morning, new equipping for the work laid at my feet. In all its forms – I am prepped and called and prepared by His hands, His feet, His Spirit that stayed behind.