Finding My Way

I've lost that loving feeling. That spark. That passion. 

I've lost my joy and giddiness at work. My creativity.

I live on writing, on creating, on explaining. For years I would literally jump and twirl for joy (just ask my coworkers) when writing a new blog post or putting the finishing touches on a grant proposal at work.

I loved explaining the intricacies of transformational development and desertification. I loved thinking up new ways to share my favorite story ever--the story of rural farmers overcoming poverty and transforming their lives. I loved writing the first couple of grant proposals. I loved improving on the next batch of proposals. I loved crafting reports on the funding we received. I loved following up on those reports the next year.

I loved it all the first four or five times around. I burned out some time between thinking up the 5th and 6th best way to explain what we do to the same funder.

I love the work that Plant With Purpose does, but I no longer love the work that I do.

God has other for plans for me, I know. Exciting plans. Only-God plans for only-God dreams.

But for now, I've lost that loving feeling and I still have 25 more days with Plant With Purpose.

I'm desperate for a spark of hope. I know God WILL restore my joy. I know He's up to something crazy stupid good. But I want to see Him now. I hunger, ache, for a sliver of joy to hold me over. To assure me that I won't always feel this burnout. That my brain won't always feel like mush and that God won't just move at some unforeseen point in the future when He clears a way, but that He can and He will move NOW. That He is present NOW. That His joy is for the taking NOW.

On Tuesday I shared a quote from T.S. Eliot's play, The Rock, that really struck a chord with me. I've been mulling over this phrase in particular:

"Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word."

At work, I've lost my words. I can still complete assignments, meet deadlines, operate on auto-pilot. But I've lost the words that flowed so freely, out of love and joy. I wonder, Is this a chance to experience more of The Word?

Can He move? Will He move NOW?

I'm losing hope. Burnout has taught me to identify myself by my own inadequacies. Burnout has forced me to admit that I can't accomplish what I want. Burnout has cornered me into believing that I will never accomplish what I want. That I will never care. Never grow. Never be passionate again. Burnout has pumped poisonous lies into my bloodstream and I'm scared I will never wash clean.

Daniel Taylor wrote, "Freedom is useless if we don't exercise it as characters making choices... We are free to change the stories by which we live. Because we are genuine characters, and not mere puppets, we can choose our defining stories. We can do so because we actively participate in the creation of our stories. We are co-authors as well as characters. Few things are as encouraging as the realization that things can be different and that we can have a role in making them so."

Burnout wants to claim my life, my thoughts, my time, my last 25 days at work. But I believe in change, in growth. I believe I can change; things can look different.

The best analogy I can come up with for my current state is that of a depressed person who has decided to move forward with treatment (medicine and counseling), but who hasn't yet started the treatment yet. I know a break is what I need. A new country, a new job, a new challenge give me hope of healing, but I'm not there yet.

But even now, before the metaphorical drugs kick in, I can take baby steps. I can choose health. I can choose to fight the lies. I can have a role in making things look different. And I can give myself grace when change is slow going.

I am taking an important step. Desperate times call for desperate measures: I'm starting a twelve week program to sober up from my toxic thoughts. More like a twelve-week challenge to foster creative freedom. To bring back that loving feeling.

One of my wonderful coworkers bought me The Artist's Way at Work. I've gone through The Artist's Way before and have been transformed by the weeks of intentional focus on creativity. In creating, I experience God. 

Like the writers of The Artist's Way, I am strong believer that "The Great Creator has gifted us with creativity. Our gift back is our use of it."

Even in this time of burnout, I will fight for my creativity. I will choose to start this program now. I will choose to believe that things can look different. That I can experience His joy now.

If you're a creative, or a blocked creative, or a wannabe creative, I highly recommend The Artist's Way-- either for work or the original. There are a ton of really cool exercises to combat our inner critics, to nurture our dreams, and to enjoy the great gifts our Creator has given us and to learn to use them to bring healing and hope to our world.

Exercise by exercise, page by page, and week by week, I will use my words to glorify The Word. I'm excited to share how God moves, and I will pass along useful tips and assignments to help you in your own creative journey.

T.S. Tuesday: Where is the life?

In addition to T. S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, last week I cleared out the Eliot section at the library. So far, I'm devouring his Collected Poems 1909-1962. 

My latest obsession includes excerpts from The Rock, a play that he wrote in collaboration with E. Martin Browne and the Reverend R. Webb-Odell. Though it was first performed in churches in the 1930s, I would venture to say that much of his wisdom and critiques of the Church are even more applicable today.

He writes,

"Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word"

In this age of information we see a lot of words. We're constantly skimming, scanning, cramming. But what's the point?

"Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?"

I am going going going. I am reading, writing, texting, tweeting, meeting, running, chatting. Where is the life I have lost in living? Where is the wisdom I have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge I have lost in information?

I write a lot words, but do I know the Word?

I so deeply desire stillness, silence. I crave rest. I long to experience the depth of His stilling presence.

I long for Life.

What do you long for?

T.S. Tuesday: You've Cat To Be Kitten Me Right Meow

On Sunday night I came across this internet meme and my new favorite cat pun. Which is ironic because yesterday at the library whilst browsing the 821.912 section, which for those of you who don’t know, is the glorious Dewey decimal ranking devoted to the poetry of T.S. Eliot, I discovered something earth shattering, for me at least.

I discovered that T.S. Eliot had a not-so-secret affinity for cats, well, writing about them at least. I found a marvelous collection of zany cat poetry titled, “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats.”

According to the shameless book flap, “These playful verses by a celebrated poet have delighted readers and cat lovers around the world.”

He originally wrote the poems in a series of letters to his godchildren. Later the poems were compiled into book form and shared with the public. Many of his memorable cat characters were later adapted for Andrew Lloyd Weber’s musical, Cats. 

As a single female writer/blogger I am hesitant to admit this, but if T.S.-freaking-Eliot can boldly proclaim his love of cats, then so can I. I love cats.

So you can imagine my cat-ostophic delight at this discovery. I’ve just read a few of the poems thus far, but I must agree with Time’s assessment (circa 1993, again the book flap unabashedly proclaims) that there is “Enough ferocious fancy and parody to knock the spots off most cat books.”

Now I don’t read many cat books (please stifle your surprise), but Eliot’s collection of cat poetry may quite plawsibly be the best.

Alright, alright, any more puns from me would be a feline-y, so I will defer to the master himself.

Here’s my favorite of Eliot’s cat poems, The Ad-dressing of Cats, being performed by talented mew-sicians in the musical, Cats. Enjoy!

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lcnCd_Gyfc]

And because we’re talking about cats, I just have to share my absolute favorite cat video on the interwebs. I warn you now, you might pee your pants.

For those with a lower tolerance for parody, but still enjoy a bit of punnery, check out the Princeton Tiger’s compilation of 56 Movie Titles Made into Cat Puns.

Whelp, cat’s all, folks!