I haven't written in a couple days. For some bloggers (actually, quite a few), this is the normal practice. For me, it isn't. I write a lot.

Daniel once asked me why I find it so easy to post on a regular basis; why I am able to sit down and easily find something to write. I told him that I think it's because I have always processed life through writing. Not that I'm a very good writer, and not that I will ever be. But years ago Mom started me on a path of daily writing and, to this day, I find writing to be a source for sorting my thoughts out. Indeed, I could simply write what I ate for lunch today and find my heart feeling a bit more settled--because in the space of time it takes me to record my eating habits, I manage to unravel emotional and mental tangles.

At any rate, I could attribute the lack of writing to the pinched nerve (my diagnosis--could be something else) in my neck that had me powerless to move much of Friday and throughout Saturday morning. I could also attribute it to the simple nature of weekends: busy. But that's not really it.

Last night as Daniel and I sat in First Crush, I told him that sometimes I feel a bit helpless against the tidal waves that wash over me. I won't blame it on Gabriel's behavior, or having three children in three years, or the ministry, or being melancholy, or Daniel's busyness, or any other thing that might look, in the moment, to be the cause for the deep discouragement and anguish that I [too often] am tormented by. There are cycles in life--highs and lows--that everyone faces, and I allow myself to be taken by them. That is the problem.

I told him I need to change. More. My vision gets so myopic so quickly.

Yeah, the truth is that I haven't written because, for the past couple days, I haven't cared.

Which made the message today all the more timely for me than ever. Jesus cares. He cares about people. A lot of people. And if I love Him, I will care, too.