scraps

From deep in the tradition, from The Cloud of Unknowing, a fourteenth-century text from an unnamed English monk: “You only need a tiny scrap of time to move toward God.” The words slap. Busyness is not much of an excuse if it only takes a minute or two to move toward God. But the monk’s words console, too. For, of time and person, it seems that scraps are all I have to bring forward. That my ways of coming to God these days are all scraps.

Lauren Winner, Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis

Today was my very large scrap.

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind with very few moments to pause. I took the day off today and allowed 8am-10pm to be a very big space of time, to read, reflect, write, laugh, cry, catch my breath, and eat 10-too-many strawberries. And drink an insubordinate amount of green tea.

This season feels like an upward climb without a peak. But today I stopped, because while my to-do list runs long, I fear the outcome of neglecting the change surrounding me. I also know all too well the results of not pausing, as words bitter and spiteful come to mind. And because God is the Creator of all things beautiful, I want eyes (and patience) wide enough to see all that and everything in between.

The key, of course, is asking God for those eyes. And so, I ask. For eyes wide enough to see, a heart deep enough to yearn, courage big enough to push beyond insecurity, and grace to transform my weary soul.

Tonight I bring my scraps, confident that He can make the loveliest of things out of the dirtiest of scraps.

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