|My desk actually looks a little like this.|
That's what it feels like, anyway. Maybe it's time for a self-intervention.
These last two weeks have been crazy. Tuesday, I started early and worked late. Wednesday, I started really early and worked really late. Today, I had a 9:30 a.m. appointment over in Medford to have my car looked at... and I'll be working late. The weekend is full of work in Eugene and a visit to Portland.
The only upside is that I think I'll finally be able to get to a church on Sunday.
I'm reminded of a handful of conversations I've had over the years about personal boundaries to keep certain things safe. I do a great job of isolating myself emotionally and spiritually, but I'm poor at protecting my personal time and horribly inept at putting boundaries around the time I reserve -- or don't reserve -- for my walk.
This is a problem, and one I have no idea how to fix. As I've detailed before, most of Sunday is spent in a daze recovering from the week that was. On weekdays, I do my best to drag myself out of bed in the late morning/early afternoon, attempt to get some exercise and food in, shower and go to work around three. If I'm lucky, I get home before 2 a.m., and begin the process again.
That doesn't leave time for reflection, and it certainly feels like there isn't time for prayer or reading. And as I sit for the first of four hours at a little Starbucks (yaaaasss) in Medford, I can see three different groups of men gathered here on this Thursday morning and talking about the bible, their faith and accountability.
Three groups. Yes, Lord, I see your point.
But how do I handle it? In Scappoose, God pointed me toward a pastor and friend and we met up a handful of times in the months before I moved. But here in Southern Oregon, everything is fresh and new. I don't know anyone, and hardly have the energy to look.
Maybe things will get easier as I get more comfortable. Hopefully work will slow down once fall postseason schedules have run their courses.
Thankfully, God's plate is capable of holding an awful lot more than mine.