New Wine

6am: I open my eyes as the sky begins to breathe out pale, blue light silhouetting tree branches in these first minutes of my day. Even if I close my eyes again, my brain has already sounded the alarm to trillions of cells in my body. Sleep slowly makes its exit while I tune into sounds of my husband puttering around the kitchen, getting his first dose of daily news and making coffee. How I wish I could be like him, a morning person, quick to rise, no excuses, refusing to be coaxed by the comforts of a warm bed.

For months I have been tired, although I have had plenty of sleep.

When the signs read: “stop” and “stay home.”, I did. I accepted sheltering, embraced the mandates. It was a relief to be freed from hectic schedules. School was hard, but not impossible. Each new day I stood under my shower, washing off the previous day’s aggravation. I chose to be grateful, and set a tone of optimism.

Then, as time went on I developed a fever--the kind of fever that made me sick with ill-temper and blank stares of boredom-being sucked into the glow of a screen, being distracted by feed that doesn’t matter and only wasted time. The hours that ordered the day felt shuffled-- Bedtime was late, but the sun was always punctual and I began to dread mornings. I became exhausted and yet restless all in the same breath.

The virus still managed to seep into me no matter how I tried to keep it out. I feel stuck, like I want to push the needle off of the broken record, or I need a strong gust of wind to blow the dust and cobwebs out of me.

This is probably confirmation that I have been inside too long.

Spending energy wondering when things will go back to the way they were is wearing me out. I am going to start off by trying to eliminate the C-words from my conversations, letting gratitude silence complaints. And, just as we are beginning to tip-toe out of our bubbles, I will cautiously emerge, trying new disciplines. I am prone to resist. Change always burns a little— it’s the heat of refinement. But, I will sing anthems of acceptance and trust, and care about hearts more than who's right, instead of getting sidetracked by things that are less important, that leech my time away and suffocate joy.

In Matthew chapter 9, we find these wise words: “No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch will pull away from the garment, making the tear worse. Neither do men, pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do the skins will burst, the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved." 

There is value in things coming undone, so that they are able to be rearranged, OR maybe reconstructed altogether. We have to sort it all out, what stays and what goes. There will be trial and error, but I don't want any fear of change to keep me from ultimately missing something better than what I could imagine.


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