It's that time again. When the Lord graciously leads me to a point along my journey when my restless and ever-wandering mind begins to calm, and I am reminded of why I am here in the first place. For a moment, I allow the trivialities of the day to slip through my fingers as my tightly clenched fist slowly begins to unfold. (Ok, if I'm honest, the Holy Spirit is probably doing a little finger-prying!) My lungs stretch to accommodate my unusually deep and intentional breath, and for a brief moment I feel as though I am falling into a trance as I- for the first time in weeks- finally allow the tension in my neck and shoulders to dissipate. And as I sit here reflecting upon this incredible gift of rest, I can't help but wonder whether this is what it's supposed to feel like. Whether this is what Jesus meant when He said...
"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me- watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me, and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." Matthew 11:29-30 (MSG)
Huh. Because those words He speaks in the beginning...those words that conjure up both unappealing and downright unpleasant reminders of my often melancholic life....could not be more accurate descriptors of the current Megan Taylor. I am tired. I am worn out. I am way beyond being burned out on 'religion.' And honestly, those are words I would rather not readily ascribe to myself. As I sit here reclined, fingers striking my keyboard, I imagine that Superwoman- complete with a fully functional cape (including flying capabilities of course) and a flame resistant super flex outer layer- is standing over my shoulder, screaming at me to hold down the delete key indefinitely. She's Superwoman, and she's pissed. She's pissed because leaving these words here...these words that reveal the weariness behind my enthusiastic facade... almost eradicates her existence. She's pissed because they confirm her increasing suspicions that she is nothing more than a plastic action figure- doomed to a life of being suffocated by the germ-infested hands of toddlers who's only question in life is whether she will survive after she and polly pocket are flushd down the toilet. She's not real. And more than that- I am not her, no matter how much I love x-ray vision goggles super-spandex body suits.
Those words? Tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Those are real. And because those are real, well, I would guess that the 'unforced rhythms of grace' that Jesus talks about must be real too. And I want to find them. Why? Because life is hard. Because just maybe, the backpack of crap I am currently carrying is far more "heavy and ill fitting" than what I'm meant to carry. And Because maybe, just maybe... there just might be more to this thing called life than we think.
**I just switched my blog URL, so for older posts, check out the ol' http://lifeofmegantaylor.blogspot.com/
