Inviting me to set down the busy and just be.
To cook less. Write less. Run less.
I see the metaphors for my life.
To be less. Perform less. Entertain less.
How it beckons me to surrender. Die, in fact. From try hard.
For the planning and controlling and even pining-to-know to rest.
The temptation for perfect strolls in again.
I forget that the tendency for Self to take a lead role in my life is a given.
An inflated version of me isn't something I'm able to lock up and never face again.
This side of Heaven there will always be a struggle.
I'll only find rest when I put the masks and costumes away.
When I stop dancing in doubt and start declaring, I'll know grace.
Truth and peace is strong and firm. Not all squirmy and hurried.
Rest is in the active, deliberate living. Intentional. Mindful. Willing.
Less entertaining. More Real.
This is worship. The surrendering of more. The choosing of less.
Because, purpose is here. In the now. And there is rest in the living.
"...for five, short, bold beautiful minutes... unscripted and unedited...
without worrying if it's just right or not."
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