pause

Friends.

We are not even two weeks into 2021 and there has already been

such trauma inflicted into our days.

Late in the week, I tapped a few paragraphs on my laptop and then deleted them. None of my words seem important at the moment or necessary to pile more to the many you have heard or read this past week.

However, the part I could find relevant from that elusive post was my intention to share the word I chose on my birthday last August. This is the second year of selecting a word for my chronological year versus on January 1st. In the weeks to come, I will share more about my rationale. But today, I want to encourage you to borrow it. 

Interlude: inter [between] ludus [play]

a period or event that comes between two others and is different from them

It’s easy to go through our days as being a collection of before’s and after’s.

I will take a walk after work. 

I will read a book before the children wake up.

I will have more time after I retire.

Life will go back to normal after the pandemic. 

Taking a moment to reflect on the space between before

and after is important but it's often avoided or rushed past.

May the word interlude, be your whispered permission to pause. 

Take a break from watching the news or scrolling social media.

Schedule time in silence to consider your beliefs and the effect of the past week.

Number the losses of 2020 and don't allow your soul to completely

reside in 2021 without taking a moment to honor each one.

Don't forget to marvel at how much courage, strength, and perseverance you possessed.

The gift of an interlude, as with music, is how the longer composition is enhanced by its presence.

An interlude or reflection doesn't need to be lengthy or performed only once. It's simply designed to bring meaning and depth to our lives. Interludes can instruct, reveal and heal us.

This week, I plan to take a deeper look at the past week and year. So often I am anxious to wish away time instead of remaining in the moment or mulling over the details later. Sometimes this wishing comes in the form of polishing shiny new year goals, an attempt to push away the harsh parts of life in favor of what I believe will ease away past aches. I am going to continue to grieve my deep losses but also look out for strains of evidence pointing to life, like the nasturtiums and herbs in my terra cotta pot which refuses to obey winter.

"We are like common clay jars that carry this glorious treasure within, so that the extraordinary overflow of power will be seen as God’s, not ours. Though we experience every kind of pressure, we’re not crushed. At times we don’t know what to do, but quitting is not an option. We are persecuted by others, but God has not forsaken us. We may be knocked down, but not out."

II Corinthians 4: 7-9 (TPT)