In this space of undoing and reforming, sometimes I feel a bit lost. While it’s been good to let go of the constant crush of anxiety and trying to meet the unrealistic expectations of others, there is still this space yet to be filled.

To be fair, I was sick for several weeks, set up a home office, developed coaching clients, and taught some cohorts. Some work has definitely continued—at my own pace.

Yet the complete reshaping of the future is still ahead. There is space to reform new habits, grasp fresh truths, and step a bit further into the plans he has for me.

But in today, it almost feels hard to move. Any direction. My body has sore spots, my brain feels a bit mushy, and I’d like to just lounge in bed. All day. Hurkle Durkle. (It’s real…look it up)

Even though I feel sluggish and uncertain of my steps today and into the future, I get up and move. I delay as much as I can: more coffee, one more email check, and the overwhelming thought I should just start cleaning all the closets. Now.

I put on the bright colors of my favorite charity, even though in this season of health I can no longer run for them. I lace up my shoes, grab my AirPods and to-go cup. I start walking, a huff and puff up the hill and a turn to the local park. We’ve lived here four years and for some reason I’ve never walked its paths. Oh yeah, that crush I used to feel….

I turn towards the park and the conversation with Jesus starts. “Why? Why am I doing this today?” It’s not really warm. But also not raining. I look up and strain to look forward. But my eyes, especially this left one, are covered in a pollen-induced hazy film. It’s a struggle to focus on what’s up ahead. And all the brightness up there kind of hurts my head. So instead, I focus at my feet.

Oh, yes. Here we are again. You and me, Jesus. What a reminder. What an invitation. How thoughtful and loving you are, even in my continued stubbornness.

For years you have reminded me not to try running ahead of you. Instead, you invite me to hold your hand, or slip my arm into the gentle crook of yours. You invite me to match your pace as you pull me closer to you.

Sometimes we move at a quicker clip, and others we slow to lovingly notice the intricate details of your creation. The broken fence showing it’s signs of a weathered life, the daffodils blooming in a random place, the fresh buds just blushing in on the magnolia trees.

I again look ahead to the busy intersection approaching and still struggle with my hazy eyes. “Right here.” You gently remind me. “The future and potential intersections are not for you. Yet. The brightness up ahead is for later. Right now, be right here. Match my step. Breathe with me. Hold tight. Don’t forget my promises for the future but don’t lose sight of what we are right here.”

Right here, the steps in front of me, one at a time, I can see with these crazy allergy eyes of mine.

Lord, thank you for stupid allergies that fill my sinuses and gloss over my eyes. In these, I know you are bringing all that seemed lost –or feared dead—back to life.

This time of unbecoming is necessary. Shedding the weight of things no longer mine to carry, no longer mine to hold. I’m relearning how to walk each step as I live into the reminder you’ve called me to walk each step of every day with you. Not ahead, right here, right now. Goopy eyes and mushy brain included.

Amen.