the heart of my hustle

Here are two photos that I love. I see many things shared between them. Things like a camp road that is well-loved by us. We have walked it in many seasons, both of life and of weather. Boys who’ve made my heart grow at least 4x bigger than the Grinch’s on Christmas Day! A gorgeous Northern Irishman with a heart that does battle and loves me on good days and bad days. And a love of mine for plaid that has not wavered!

But there are also differences. The leaves are more golden in the latter as summer changed into fall. Our tribe has increased in size; you can tell by the height of S and C, and by the rascally additions of R and P. 

And then there’s me. I cried today at the comparison of these photos because I felt like I needed to jump up and down waving my arms, shouting and pointing to warn the old 2015-me of what was coming. To hold on. No, to get up and batten down the hatches just to prepare for what waited around 2016’s corner. 

But I couldn’t have known of course, what I know now. And what I know is this: progress isn’t actually what I’m about. Glorifying the hustle that I routinely find myself struggling to breathe through (literally) is sucking the life force from within me. Well not exactly but close. In less dramatic terms, the hustle has broken me. Now whether it was the hustle itself or the way in which I deal while in the depths of said hustle is neither here nor there. Because HERE I AM. Broken. 

Progress isn’t what I’m about these days. On the drive home from Eastern Washington this week, after a filling time of Officer’s Councils followed by furlough with my family, I remembered the verse in 1 Peter that says, “turn away from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.” (3:11) It took me a long while to actually get the words together in my head as I drove, partly because ‘seek peace’ and the depth/details of that swirled in my brain, and also because of Monsters, Inc. playing for the 7,392 time in the back row by my biggest (still babies) boys. 

Progress isn’t evil. But I’ve allowed it to consume me. I want to be better, achieve shiningly, do the most(good) forever and ever amen. I’ve sought progress over peace, and I’m paying for it. My body is broken down, awaiting appointments with doctors that I don’t even really know what it is that they do. My mind is frazzled and sad, and also awaiting appointments to find support and direction from. The hustle to progress further and further coupled OF COURSE with basically having 4 babies in 3 years, a stressful job, moving a few times, yada yada, has brewed the perfect (read: terrible) storm. 

And the Lord, in His perfect and tender mercy, has bent down to remind me of my errors and of my humanity. That I’m to seek peace AND PURSUE IT. 

So here I am in photo number two, hustling no longer for progress, but for peace. I long for peace in my bones. I am weary now, but God is weary never. 

“Because he bends down to listen,

    I will pray as long as I have breath!”

Psalm 116:2