Of Sourdough Starters and Early Mornings

 "Not everything that weighs you down is meant for you to carry."

This morning I woke up early and went down the stairs quietly.  I needed to be alone. I kissed Jeff goodbye as he headed off to work, tended to the new little kitten that came out from under the house yesterday, made a quick breakfast of Ezekiel bread toast with smoked salmon, and dripped my coffee.

Then I headed to my spot.

I love the quiet of our office/ school room in the mornings.  I used to come here before the sun was up and teach English across the screen to kids in China, but for at least an entire contract now, my screen has been dark in the mornings, and I sit at my desk and think... plan... pray... journal.  It grounds me for the day ahead.

17 June 22    I need to be filled up again with You, Abba.  My mind & heart feel like the haze that has filled the sky for four days now....

I took my first two sips of coffee while I wrote those sentences in my journal... then I heard Charlie calling from the other side of the kid-gate at the top of the stairs, and I felt the old frustration creep back up.

I needed quiet time to hear from my Father and pour out my heart... clear my mind... see straight again.

I got him settled with an older sister to help him get breakfast, and settled myself back into my spot... then Carson came into the room where I was journaling.  He tried to be quiet, but his presence was a distraction.  I needed head space.  A place where I can cry out.  A direct line to my Comforter.

There have been too many pent-up frustrations lately... And because of these hazy skies, too little time spent outside, where I always feel better.

There's been too many conflicts lately with angsty teenagers who don't want to bend, and Mamas who want to change hearts that only the Father can change...

I saw that quote first thing this morning: Not everything that weighs you down is meant for you to carry.

Definitely needed that.

Right after reading that, I noticed my sourdough starter looking lazily back at me from the kitchen counter.  It should be happy.  Bubbly.  Light.  Life-giving. 

I fed it before bed last night.  And sure, it's alive.  It looks okay.  It'll perform.  But it's not at its best.  It's weighed down.

I know what's wrong with it... it hasn't given of itself lately.  I've been too busy to use it, so I just keep feeding it.  When I take some away, and use it, it comes back to life.

"... And every branch that bears fruit, he prunes, so that it bears more fruit."

It's the same with me.  When I open my arms to the sleepy boy at the top of the stairs,... when I share my space with the pre-teen who wants to get his math done before breakfast... when I put down my reading to listen to a young heart... when I put aside my afternoon project to invite my youngest two to snuggle in for a book...

Then I begin to feel light again.  Happy.  Blessed.  Able to give more.

I can smile at my son who's really trying to be quiet in the room with Mom, but his dry erase marker is squeaking when he's working out problems on the whiteboard, and he clumsily knocks things over and makes noise when he gets up for an eraser.

I can melt into a sleepy hug from a boy ready to come downstairs and start the day. I can enjoy them. Love them.  Give them more.

I'm not made to keep pouring into me. I'm made to pour myself out and then be fed.  

And not everything that weighs me down is meant for me to carry.  Not every idea I have is meant for me to take on.  The burden of trying to squeeze teenage emotions and attitudes into my mold is not my job.  I don't have any more control over that than I have over three-year-olds who wake up during Mama's quiet time... or six-year-olds who don't want to eat the yolk out of the egg... or skies filled with smoky haze for days.

I'm not meant to carry that.  I'm only meant to give a little of myself each day... and trust that He will give me my portion.

Shalom, friends.