...and just two weeks later:
somehow i am drawn almost inevitably back into the whirlwind world of grass clippings. juniper burn. picking up other people's trash. permadirt/sandpaper fingers. you know the drill. this afternoon i have been indecisive---SO blessed and thankful to have such a world to land in. one that will catch me in a soft bed of topsoil, hopefully free of rosa ru-gross-a thorns. one that will fill up my bank account and allow me the freedom to share an overflowing budget. and yet i am SO afraid to get sucked into the darkness of the whirlwind. you weren't in the fire, Lord. or the earthquake, or the thunder. you're in the still small voice. and i way too easily let your still small voice get drowned out by the bellowing of my summer-sore feet, and the little bits of thistle stuck under my skin. i too easily let your still small voice get strangled along with my imagination, trampled under marathon hours of trimming route. i'm praying for the wherewithal to stop and sit when i need to. to stop and hear that still small voice, to pay attention when i am really too tired and 5:45am will show up too soon.
just another socktan summer.