When It Doesn’t Feel Like Work

I recently began working outside our home. For the previous four years, I poured my days (what was left after washing dishes and buying groceries, which are both part of a vicious but necessary cycle, now that I think about it.) into writing and all the obligations surrounding it (e.g. social media). But what I loved—what I always wanted to be doing—was opening the Word of God and writing about it. That part never felt like work. It still doesn’t.

There are big chunks of my new
job that don’t feel like work.

But now, I go to an office most days, and I’m trying to adjust my life to this new normal while I try not to lose the writing. This struggle for adjustment is why, for the first time since September 2015, my blog posts are sometimes late. There are big chunks of my new job that don’t feel like work, just like when I wrote from home. And some parts of my new job that are work feel like the work of helping someone move:  hard but rewarding. (Maybe for you, it’s gardening or baking.) God has equipped and trained me for this new job, and I know He has placed me there for this time. Continue reading

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What I write when I have nothing to write

I’m spiritually dry. I feel like there’s a vacuum cleaner above my head, and every time I begin to sense the Lord’s presence, that vacuum whirs into action and immediately sucks the feeling out of my reach.

This often happens to me around Christmas. Maybe it’s the extra obligations and travel. Maybe it’s the overblown expectation of some sweet spiritual experience. Maybe it’s the disruption of my regular schedule with kids home and husband off work and late nights which lead to late-rising mornings. Maybe it’s a new plan for my daily quiet time, and I haven’t adjusted yet. Maybe it’s the cold weather that makes it hard to go for a run and compels me to cook warm things instead.

What I’m trying to say is that I have nothing fresh and unique to offer you today. Even as I look back through my journals and find these great spiritual insights, I feel no conviction to write about them.

Faith is a choice founded
in conviction and ratified
in experience. (click to tweet)

But my faith is not a feeling. Faith is a choice founded in conviction and ratified in experience. It is an ever-present rock which cannot be shifted (Psalm 62:2).

God told Isaiah that people are like grass, and their faithfulness is like wildflowers in a field. The grass (which is the people) dries up and turns brown. The flowers (which is the people’s faithfulness) fall off their stems, but neither He nor His Word are like that; on the contrary, “the word of our God endures forever” (Isaiah 40:6-8).

So I will do what I do what I do when there’s no doing left in my muscles.

I will sing what I sing when there’s no song left in my heart.

I will think what I think when there’s no thought left in my mind.

It’s the same thing so many before me have done.

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will be joyful in God my Savior. -Habakkuk 3:17-18

As for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous deeds, of your saving acts all day long—though I know not how to relate them all. I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, Sovereign Lord; I will proclaim your righteous deeds, yours alone. -Psalm 71:14-16

I can always praise Him.

I can always declare His faithfulness back to Him even when my own faithfulness falters.

I can always remind myself of His sovereignty, His presence, His goodness.

What about you? What do you do when the well of spiritual nourishment goes dry? Let’s refresh each other with your comments below!

What to do when it’s not just your skin that’s dry in winter. (click to tweet)