It is time for silence to do its work.
I knew that it would be so. That for too many months I have been running at a pace which would be arrested by only one thing. And so I planned it, weeks ago, when I knew that this moment would come. Two days and two nights of stillness in a retreat house. The only way that the drivenness is disciplined, my heart healed.
For tonight I am laying down an important work in my life. I have promised to leave it alone for two weeks. A wise person advised me to do this. Not for my heart but for the work. Although this is nearly the same thing, it seems, when words are blood and sweat, prayers and tears, and all of it prophetic yearning to echo the words I hear him whisper.
And so in these two weeks I turn to the only cure I know. The bittersweetness of stillness which jars and soothes. A silence which tomorrow morning I will not want. An absence of doing which by tomorrow night will have strained my capacity to continue obeying. A solitude which will work its way deep into my bones until I cannot escape the emptiness of a spirit which seems to think I can live without him.
Tomorrow and the next day I shall not want this. I know this. But there is another knowing too. That by the third day my heart will be stilled, my spirit renewed. And I will be ready to receive the gift of this two weeks. The gift of not labouring on this important work but, instead, watching him work on it.
Just as he promised.