And so I write.

The busy-ness of the past couple of weeks is catching up with me. My days have been filled with fun and friends and family, reliving old memories and creating new. Laughter, life, and love has filled me up, soothed raw edges and laid gentle hands on the tender places that still reside in my soul. Courage and comfort have been sought and found; fears have been spoken out loud, and then released. Soaking in the familiarity and easiness of those who know me best (and love me despite it) sustains me and the sweetness of little arms thrown around my neck in an unabashed display of love has given me everything I need to keep reaching to do better, to be better. For these times, and for these gifts, I am grateful.

But as I show up tonight to write, to worship at the page, a deep weariness has settled over me. The edges of emotions are blurring together, seeping into each other until I can't tell where one ends and the next begins...happiness, confusion, contentment, gratitude, trepidation, loneliness, fulfillment. All seemingly at war with each other, and yet all have taken up residence inside my head and my heart tonight.

I am tired.

It's time to rest. I know this. And yet it's hard to settle in, to settle down and to let my body and mind sink deeply into slumber when it seems like there is always so much to do, so much to see, so much to write, so much to say. So I let the tumble of words spill onto the page, looking for a pattern, waiting for the answer. Or, if not that much, at least identifying the question. I can usually find what I'm looking for, if I keep searching, keep sorting. Tonight I know rest won't come until I let all of this out.

And so I write.