The last few weeks have been a showing of the chaos of life. Crazy work schedules and adjustments in community; travel and a wedding and weekends that feel like paradise; jam-packed days and nights of far too little sleep; not enough time to process and tired emotionality and excuses for all of it.
In the midst of it, a longing to slow.
More than a longing.
A conviction.
A conviction rooted in another conviction and another conviction beyond even that:
to add to the healing of the world
to live an intentional life
to create and care and relate meticulously, authentically, intentionally
It was easy in the summer, with no job and endless time for sleeping and journaling. Life picks up speed, though, and if I'm not careful, I find myself adding to the brokenness.
Without intentionality, I find myself overlooking stories and fears and the things that make us human.
I find myself fumbling through my days: thoughtlessly relating, hastily replying, foolishly bypassing the hearts of others.
It's damaging. To me. To my relationships. To my sanity. To my faith.
And yet, I have a thousand excuses for why intentionality is too lofty a dream, some legitimate. I find myself putting off intentionality under the guise of other forms of service: my job working with at-risk youth, my independence, my Meyers-Briggs (ENFP), my church. I claim that I'll get to it later and rush off to my next highest priority.
I am learning the hard way that intentionality is a discipline, and a Jesus-oriented one at that.
He is never not intentional. His words and His time and His every movement.
He is meticulous in all He does and encourages me to the same.
He challenges me to slow my way, to prioritize and invest and protect time for the people and things that matter.
More than that, to taste the sweetness of intentionality and enjoy.
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