I sit quietly this morning, my fuzzy warm grey blanket wrapped around my lower half, propped upon a tall stool, eyes closed, hands palms up on my thighs. Mar-a-na-tha. My mind seeks to fill the void of thought with lesser things. Mar-a-na-tha. My breathing is, for the most part, steady. Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. In, out. In, out. Mar-a-na-tha. Things I've deemed important in my life rush to the surface to fill the quiet. Test me in this, see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be enough room to store it. The stillness of the room is a comfort; the quiet buzz of cars outside, a soothing rhythmic stream I dip myself into. I rest in that space. Mar-a-na-tha. The Lord is coming. The ripples of a moment, long hidden in my past, train my mind on the vastness and goodness of his character. You will make known to me the path of life. Mar-a-na-tha. He ushers me forward into his promises. Like a child I turn and wrap my arms around his neck. It's not always what I would call successful, these morning meditations. In fact, I would have to be honest and say they more often than not don't happen. But every once in a while I find myself in the quiet place.
I have been long thinking about this idea of "nesting" and what it means to me and what it means for my life and how that applies to a nomad and a wanderer - and in that I've unearthed a sort of pride that has been wrapped up in myself (there is a lot of this lately). Something that says, "If you stop, you're a fraud. a hypocrite, less exciting, less mysterious, less less less"... as if to insinuate that I am who I am/my value stems from a place of action/performance.
This pride says to me, while my heart is longing to slow for a moment, to dig deep, to invest and rest, "you are only as exciting and desirable as your next adventure" (and adventure is not defined by me). This ugly beast says, "If you nest, now, you are no different from those you've looked at in days past and encouraged to explore, to leave their comfort and security in search of breath and life. You are no better - " Hold. Pause. Is that a truth in me? Does my pride say I am better than another because I embrace risk? because I step outside my comfort zone? If that is the case than death to it all. That is not my identity. It has nothing to do with being better. It has everything to do with expanding and exploring.
My pride says, "Nesting = comfort = settling".
The quiet this morning comforted my heart. Following the release of this shitty thing deemed pride, I find truth in the confines of my expanding heart.
Nesting does not have to be permanent (what a relief for my soul). Nesting is a safe place for weary, traveled bones. Nesting is a rejuvenating experience that allows the cloud of learned things to settle and solidify. Nesting is a step of faith for the Nomad, for we must believe that those distant shores, while still distant at this point, are attainable. Nesting is movement and adventure just bound in a different cover.
and my favorite Nesting is Okay.
It's so funny to me how much of a relief that last sentence is to me. Sometimes I take myself too seriously. Life is life, and we are learning - we must harbor grace for ourselves. Nesting is okay. It's a deep breath of fresh air in long constricted lungs.
To nest is not the death of adventure, in fact, when embraced, I think it's going to one of the most beautiful, yet.