A Took sometimes sees

The last couple of months have taken the wind from my sails, so to speak.  So, here I am, floating somewhat silently, on a mirror flat ocean of self-reflection.  Before the wind picks up again, I’m forced to take an accounting of myself.  This is often a necessary thing, if you are a Took.  Necessary, but uncomfortable because as a Took you also have a loud critics view of a Took’s life.  When you are a Took, it is easy to be comfortable by your hearth, surrounded by the world that you’ve helped to create, and dream that you are safe…while fearing to go outside your little village because there is where things get a bit muddled and dicey.  There are stories to be told of great adventures, and dreams sometimes of doing grand things, but a Tooks heart is often fearful, if truth be told, of change, of daring.  A nice roaring fire, a thick stew and a woolen blanket calls to us.  Staying where we know best is the most we come to hope for.  Yet sometimes, sometimes that little world we settled in is interrupted by wicked things…in they creep, in to our world, our homes, even our hearts without our knowing.  Such little things that take root, too.

In my own heart has crept perfection and fear.  They grapple with one another often, and often can be found co-joined against me.  The idea of perfection looms large, and my fears of not obtaining such moves me to an almost paralytic state.  In order to combat my fears, I embrace perfection, believing sometimes it’s promise of “if”…if I can maintain, if I can achieve, if I only, if only…then there would be no fear.  I vacillate between the two, however.  While fear often makes me stand still, there are times when the shame of it’s  taunting moves me to action despite my desires.  There are worse things I’m convinced, more terrifying than what already plagues me, if I don’t move.

I have lived, silently defeated, condemned by the assurance that those who know Him do not live like this…and yet, here I am.  The ability to maintain any level of flawed perfection stops outside my door.  I can not control the outside world and would much rather shut it away, to wish it into non-existence.  Yet, as if to confound my life, lives within my breast the desire to embrace, to test, to try, to rejoice.  When I step outside my little door, and look up into the far reaching sky of night, black and dazzling, my soul shrinks to know true worshipful fear.  Beyond me, beyond the worries of my heart, the tears of motherhood, the love in marriage, beyond is the One, who knows my sorrows and whose right hand is stretched out to receive me and lead me I know not where.