throw it at the wall

i'm trying to create some external rhythms in my life that will hopefully form some good habits. one of those rhythms is writing. so even though i don't feel that i have some phenomenal thing to write, i'm going to do it anyway. because you have to start somewhere. you have to throw some crap at the wall, see what sticks, and hold on to it.

i don't write music (don't start with me), but i do love to write words. i think it's because i process externally and it's often times through words that i discover more of who i am and who god is.

talking about prayer last week, someone said to me how important it is to unplug and get alone with god, that we all need quiet and solitude in order to connect with something (or Someone) greater than ourselves. but i'm not big on solitude. i thrive on people, experiences, relationships, conversations, noise, distractions, adrenaline. when people say that you need to unplug or get quiet to pray, you begin to think something is wrong with you if you don't "need" solitude.

seasons of my life have been filled with extreme self-loathing over my incredible inability to get quiet or solitary in prayer. i would try to change, to make myself need/want/desire solitude and quiet. i would try to practice disciplined "prayer", you know the kind, with every eye closed and every head bowed. but my wandering mind and incessant list of wants, needs, fears, desires, and worries left very little room for Anyone to get a word in edgewise. and let's just be honest. that's not helping anyone.

but i am in a season now of great self-embrace where i seem to have found my way, at least for the time being. because i do find Him, hear Him, speak to Him and He to me. i find him when i run, when i play piano, when i write. somewhere between putting on my running shoes and arriving back at my front door, the mire of the day gets lifted off of me and i remember that i am connected to everything and Someone greater. somewhere between sitting down in front of the piano and the next hour or two that disappears, i remember who i am and what i've been given. and somehow, when i start to write, i wind up closer to understanding than confusion, closer to peace than chaos, closer to connected than isolated.

there is no clasping of hands, bowing of heads, or closing of eyes. but there is perspiration and movement, motion and propulsion, dreams and hopes. and this has become my way.