Today was one of those days. No...not one of those days filled with melancholic interactions and trivial frustrations that should be accompanied by a characteristically despondent soundtrack infused with the likes of Johnny Cash, Radiohead, and Death Cab....Nope, not that kind of day. Today- was one of those days when words aren't enough. When no combination of metaphors and adjectives and discombombulated sentence structures could possibly reflect the reality of Megan in this moment. Still, words are all I know. And it's funny, because it is precisely those days when words are not enough that seem to be dictated by words more than ever. Today was no exception. Recognizing that my words would be inadequate, I spent most of my day alternating between the state of absolute silence and that of complete and chaotic verbal spewage. (Put another way, I talked. Way. Too. Much.) It's almost as if my addiction to words has become so fierce that when they just aren't cuttin' it, my heart gets so soaked with the reality of me that I lose all sense of direction and social normalcy and turn into this goobery conglomoration of spastic-ness. And so tonight, because I cannot possibly squeeze a tiny camera far enough into my arteries to take a picture of my heart for you, a goobery congolomoration of spastic-ness it is. (And I promise, I will try to de-spasticize as much as possible. :)
I just got back from a late-night run. It is 12:23 am. I know what you may be thinking, "Megan, what are you doing running by yourself at midnight! So not safe...". Yep, tis true. Each time I lace up my shoes and step out of my house at a time when most are unlacing their shoes and slipping into bed, the often hidden common sense Megan emerges from the depths to inform me that I am making an unsound decision. Still, I choose to consistently defy common sense Megan's authority and step out of the house anyway. It's a habit that my often over-crowded schedule (and utter perfection of the art of procrastination) has induced, and one that I just can't seem to squelch.
For me, these late night runs have become much more than that which allows me to feel a little less guilty every time I grab an extra brownie. (Which, as most who know me would say, is every time). These runs have become an escape from the traffic of life. A small chunk of time when I can embrance the spasticity of my being and attempt to deconstruct the mess that has accumulated in my mind. On those rare days when words are not enough, these runs become especially enticing to me. Tonight's run was perfect. The temperature was ideal. It was quiet. I passed only a single car throughout the entire duration. My legs weren't cramping. Perfect. And before long...the deconstruction began...
In the midst of my verbal spewage today, there were a few conversational moments that captured my heart. That casually offered reminders that I didn't know I so desperately needed. As I talked with a friend this afternoon, our conversation wandered to a chat about times of change and uncertainty. We talked a bit about the perpetual difficulty that accompanies our attempts to relinquish control...which I believe has almost always reigned as my number one demise. And as we talked, I was reminded once again of the truth that has become my stronghold over this past year: that the Lord is enough. As our conversation meandered away from this topic and my afternoon (and verbal spewage) continued on, my spastic mind simply could not separate itself from this time...
As my feet continued to pound the pavement along the streets of Centerton tonight, this thought was central. The Lord is enough. The Lord is enough. The Lord is enough. The Lord is enough. What does that mean? Not literally. Not semantically. But truly. Wake up in the morning, throw my blue jeans on and jump in my car mean. Dinner with a friend mean. Listen to the heartbreak of another mean. Live my life mean. As it would turn out, today was more than just a words are not enough day. It was a get smacked upside the head with a dose of who I really am day. And so these realities began to permeate my mind....I am a worrier. I am a procastinator. I am a liar. I often talk way too much...and then worry myself crazy the rest of the day with my unnecessary words. I often hurt those I love. I am driven by many perfectionistic tendencies, but often mask them with my laid-back approach to life. I am prideful. I am jealous. I get my feelings hurt much easier than I will allow you to think. I....my friends....am broken.
While the reailty of the brokenness of humanity is something I have slowly been learning to accept over past months, it is a reality I have been reluctant to lay over my own life. It has been relatively easy to observe the brokenness of humanity in the faces of the children and families I see at work everday. In the piles of rubble and delapidated buildings that line the streets of Haiti. But despite the brokenness I have observed in the lives of others, I have avoided removing the casings that have for so long masked the brokenness of my own heart. Why? Because it's easier with them on. It's easier for me to pick a different colored cast for each part...believing that I look much better adorned with fiberglass of various colors. But what I don't realize is that when a cast is left on for too long, the skin begins to discolor and the muscle begins to atrophy. And long before I may realize the damage, the effects may become far-reaching.
And so tonight, my friends, my spastic-ness has given me a picture of me. Cast-less me. Broken me. But it has also given me a much greater understanding of the Lord's enoughness. Enough. Like nothing else matters, enough. Like no matter what, enough. Like when financial burdens threaten and relationships change and life is full of pain, enough. And most of all, enough to cover my brokenness. My shortfalls. My days of verbal spewage and moments of complete silence...and then the time I spend worrying about them. Enough. And as I sit here tonight...legs weary and shirt sweaty and eyes tired from a long day and a good run, it is this truth that I cling to. Because no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to be enough on my own. And even if I could, I'm pretty sure my urge to practice the art of procrasination will not remain dormant for long. :)
