In which I am almost all the way burned out.

My Liberty-friend tells me it’s one of the most beautiful things about me, the way I dive into life and everything with both feet AND headfirst – quite an acrobatic achievement, I can assure you. But, she also tells me that this strength of mine can be very hard on my soul, that if I’m not cautious, over time, this unsustainable diving and jumping will make me be weak. She told me this because we talked yesterday after I sent her this exact text message: “I’m burned out. I lost my freaking shit today. Just needed to tell you.” If you’re not familiar with the expression “I lost my freaking shit”, let me clarify: it has nothing to do with bowel movements and everything to do with uncontrolled weeping and wall-yelling and guttural groaning and a body shaking violently because it’s trying so strong not to start throwing things around the kitchen.

Yep.

I lost my shit. (Before I break out in an embarrassment-rash, someone please tell me I’m not the only one.)

I am a diver and a jumper by nature, but there are also circumstances in our personal world that leave very little emotional real estate and added with the high, non-stop pulse of summer activity, I find it extra hard to hide away somewhere long enough to heal from one thing before the next comes along and will someone just let me crawl into the deepest, most isolated hole? So I burned-out under the blazing sun. My soul has lived too much life this past year and it all caught up to me, exploded and left me utterly deflated. I feel like a study in brokenness right now, a veritable petrie dish of multiplying cracks and as painful as this place feels, it’s so good for me to walk quietly beside my old man, be shaken and humbled again over my own humanity and ask the good questions before God so we can seek my gentle transformation and redemption together.

At the tail-end of our conversationĀ Liberty-friend tells me to go on sabbatical, so on sabbatical I will go for the whole month of August. Around the table this morning with our 3 little pancake-eaters, we had a family meeting. Austin and I needed to explain to the boys what was going on inside me, what I had done/had happened to my spirit, what I needed to do to be restored, what a sabbatical meant and how it might look for our daily rhythm for the next 30 days. Our big-loving children with their giant, compassionate hearts decided then and there they wanted to take care of me for that whole time (as best as their young-boyness can manage), so I’m going to let them.

Other then letting the care come in, my soul will be walking softly and slowly, like a body would when recovering from a high-fevered flu. I’m turning any extra noise all the way off, leaving blog/web-land completely, taking no less then three mystic-like and prayer-full pauses a day in some secluded space and also saying “no” SO much, “no” to favors and volunteering and bending in every direction – I’ve learned that I am not Gumby after all . . . Who knew?

Maybe this August sabbatical will become a yearly commitment to myself and my health, an extended sacred space where I can bow low and go extra still and be held by the best arms and drink big and long from the nectar that flows down the mountain of God’s most nourishing heart.

If it comes to your mind or your heart or anywhere else, would you pray for me and mine?

Love you all so much.

Erika

 

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