To tell

Over the last few months, I’ve been consumed, really, with work the Lord is doing on my heart. He’s exposing some really nasty selfishness and pride, and along with that, I’m discovering that I’ve developed a few unseemly habits. Lovely, right? In the midst of this, I’ve probably done too much navel-gazing, analyzing and over-analyzing what I’m doing and how. And really, I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off doing who-knows-what, but it certainly isn’t important stuff, the stuff that He would have me be working towards, because Heaven knows his yoke isn’t burdensome like the one I'm bearing.

And so here I am. I keep neglecting the story here -- my story, our story, but most of all His story -- because I keep finding other urgent things to do. Spots on the floor. Dust in the windowsill. Dinner to be cooked. Dishes to be washed. Budgets to be balanced. Yet my heart longs, even aches, to record and share this story. My days are full from dawn until long after dusk, but I feel He’s calling me to pause a moment and to enjoy this easy burden, to plunk down some memorial stones for the next generation that’s tucked into blankets on the other side of the house. His mercies are too precious not to record, too important not to testify about.