Well, Time to Rest

Dave Smith

The night, deeply silent and wrapped in a dark peace, stirs.  Just a whisper through the open window, a rustle of polyester curtain, a wiggly blind. One of the kitties flicks an ear against my cheek, most certainly Taz my constant night companion.  Awake for a while, I anticipate sneaking light to follow, know the silence and peace will cease.  This little twinkle of disturbance activates my think, stirs docile dream into rolling, bulging cumulus word clouds demanding attention.  Verb lightning pierces, destroys a once-idyll meadow of meanders and thunderclaps echo hollowly into the well of ideas in need of saying.  Night reclaims reality, the kitty re-nests into remaining night silence and wraps in a dark peace, unstirring.  Me, not so much – I know the drill.  I pad to keyboard by habit in the night-blind that encourages toe stubs and bumps.  The backlit keyboard ignites, the screen illuminates, a hurricane lantern awaiting use as guide for a new journey.  The cursor blinks impatience and I open the braindoor.

I mowed a new job yesterday, a giant of a yard along the Rock Freeway.  The ranch style, all brick home had been rented by a friend and the requested “would I, could I…?” offered another opportunity to help someone with little cash and a lot of need.  Per the old farm days when Dad Frank would rise to a sunny day and exclaim, “Time to open the hay field”, I pursued that long journey around the perimeter and hummed tunes to the not so melodious bounce, rattle, and drone of old orange, the 46.  The ditch, a full length of the property ‘V’ that required side-saddle driving for balance, welcomed me with a wheel spinning, slog tossing, mud-mired menagerie hidden under knee high grass.  Stuck.  Rear rim deep stuck.  I stepped into the quagmire, sneaker top ooze a pleasantry unneeded.  With a “Lord help me now” disclaimer, I lifted the rear, inched it over and up the slope – repeated the process to my perspiringachingmusclestrechedtolimit dismay, boarded, and continued the cut.  A “thanks Lord” spewed from the outlet with the long cuttings as I came back around about 5 minutes later.  Me, well, as usual I had become lost to the land of not in the present thinks and drove back into the mire, just about 5 yards beyond the last stick in the mud moment.  Head shaking, now sweating, I repeated the process, much more difficult this time, and again invoked a little help from above.  When I restarted 46, all 22-horsepower coughed “he’s stupidbrrrrreallydumbrrrrrunnnnawayyyy” and we again chopped off.

A few new verbs bounced around my brain and I made the third round without incident and settled into the perpendicular, make the lines straight monotony.  Earlier in the week I wrote a bulletin article, one that tickled, scratched, and ate at my conscience throughout the remaining day and into the night.  I got God’s message – don’t use it, it doesn’t feel right.  I let Heather know and puzzled about the wording as swath after swath of fresh scented effort rolled away behind me.  The thinks, musings, and angst continued the entire 4 plus hours and eddied their way into the hour of trimming around way too many trees, 3 leech bed vents, the house and fire pit, and a few stumps. The short crab apples managed to steal my clip-on sunglasses at some point – I didn’t even notice the pocket pick clutch of the spikey branches.  After loading up and wearily aiming for home, I knew.

The hurricane lantern of the keyboard does light my way.  Entering the brainstorm and sorting through all the verbs, similes, metaphors, allusions, I bump into the truth of it all.  For a while, this part of my journey comes to conclusion.  With 2 ½ years of writing these Spirit inspired, joyous offerings, I sense the Lord telling me to take a break.  No, I am not copping out and using Him as excuse.  I have become a bit mucked down and am perspiring my way out of the slush.  The mental lift presents difficulty and my mind strength weakens.  The recent Congregational meeting, church “politics”, issues – even now at my best of be positive Dave, I slip to hints of irritation which too often have become anger.  My joy runs, chased by undercurrents and even the more powerful rip tides that threaten all churches.  I must, listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit, recollect my thinks, review all the wonderful wanders God has given me to share with all of you.  Regain my spiritual health.

So, for perhaps just a little while, my keyboard will wink off, my romance of nature world and wistful thinks will silence.  Beyond that, a lot of the bubbling verbs will still agitate like my LG washing machine, the kind with no blades to swish around the garments.   Just a burbling-cleaning-bulge in the sheets monotone that grows into spin cycle.  And that’s my right brain, ready to hit spin cycle despite walking away from the page.

God Bless – God Cares.  God is Good, so very Good, if we but take time to see His leadership, His way, His Holy Hand in the life of things and our thinks.