Monsters & Rivers

I woke up this morning and started the scroll. Everything I saw left me looking even harder—for hope, I guess, for something good. But in those tiny squares on my screen, even the good and beautiful things somehow leave me emptier, turning me inward, whispering if only I could __, if only I was __, if only I had __. I start my day suffocated by thoughts of myself, our world, and all the dark and twisty things my screen had to offer.

I get out of bed and go on with my day, searching already for something to fix the ache.

By 8 a.m., I am a swirling monster of angst and offense and overwhelm. The thought of adding sitting still with God to my morning only seems to make my to-do list louder and the clock tick faster. And that feeling reminds me—just how badly I must need these minutes sitting quietly with my Creator.

So me, and all my anxiety, all my self-importance, sit down with Love. I show up, even rushed, because I know I’ll leave relaxed. After all, His yoke is easy and His burden is light—even if easy and light aren’t exactly the expectations I’ve been walking myself in these days.

You seem to laugh lovingly at the monster I show up as today—the frenzy I was determined to keep operating from. You do what You always do here: love me right back into myself.

I showed up convinced I was emptied of love and patience and understanding—but You fill me right back up. You always have more than enough. You operate like a river, always eager to let love flow wildly to me, too. Help me today—not to impede love’s flow.

I see now that I started this day looking to fix my own ache. But a moment with You seats me somewhere else—another view, a different perspective. I ask now, not what or who in this world might fix the ache in me but instead how, with all this love, all this joy, all this hope, I might go out and help ease the ache of our world, of the people around me. You sit me at a view where I can see past myself.

You are the God of softness and gentleness and humility and empathy.
I am prone to judgment and harshness and unforgiveness.

I am prone to wander, but You’re prone to chase.

After even ten minutes here, I can almost see it again: the true and the beautiful all around us. Now, here with You, my eyes lifted from the screen, ears tuned to Your Spirit, I believe all over again. Hope must be alive and well and worthy of waking up for.

I rise from this place free—not responsible for fixing them, or me, or everything in between. Free from the exhaustion of a life and day spent orbiting myself.

May I spend this day now like a river, too.