Coming in from the Wind

I slept in this morning. Later than I intended to. Geoff left for work early and I set my alarm for just a little longer, and I slept through it.

I wake up, anxious. The muscles in my face and neck are tight from my TMJ and I lie in bed wondering what to do with with this day off, already feeling somehow behind even though I have no major commitments. But there are still the things I want to do and the things I need to do, like grocery shopping and preparing tomorrow's dinner for company so it will be ready to heat when I get home from work.

I linger with my anxiety for a while. Prayer would probably help, but now that I've had a late start to my morning, I should get up and be productive, right? I could sit down and work on my Scripture memory, remind myself of what is true, but I feel too anxious to quiet my mind. Maybe I'll fold that pile of laundry first.

Maybe I'll just do this on my own.

And I remember this quote by C.S. Lewis:

It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings; coming in out of the wind.

Why do I avoid the gifts He's provided when I need them most—disciplines like prayer and Scripture reading? Why do I believe the lie that I can afford to bypass them and somehow still have joy? Why do I avoid “listening to that other voice,” quieting and stilling my heart before the One who alone can give rest to my soul? I've only just woken up and the wind has whipped me around and wound me tight.

I don't know the answer to all the whys, but I suspect they have their root in fear. I'll save the dissection for later. What I do know is that I only have this moment and I can start fresh right here. I can “Do The Next Thing,” as the poem says (this was shared with me thirteen years ago by a pen-pal I've never met, and I've often returned to it's truths)

From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the hours the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration: “DO THE NEXT THING.”

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Trust them with Jesus, do the next thing

Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all results, do the next thing

Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, do the next thing.

Author Unknown

What is "the next thing" for you? For me, it's spending some time in quiet and centering myself in the truth of God's love. Then, I will tackle the shopping and various chores and hopefully get some reading in today. Whatever your day may hold, the wind out there can be brutal. Why not come in for a bit and find some refreshment? Even in the midst of what you're doing, if you can't get away, why not pick up Your conversation with the Father wherever you left it off--why not come in from the wind and find strength for the next thing He would have you do?
And remember this--He loves you.