My body needed a rest.
All the way down to my soul.

I wish it had been a clear booming voice from the clouds that helped me hear it was time to rest.
But for me, God’s voice is often much more gentle than that.
It was a million gut feelings that I needed a break from what I was working on, but instead I would keep going.
It was years of pushing and pushing when there could have been an enjoying too.

Last week I had a day where I was bored. Where I had time I didn’t know what to do with. You said it, Qubert. “$&*#!!?” WHAT?? This is unheard of. I can’t remember the last time I felt bored like that. Maybe as a kid?

I’ve cut out the crap. I’ve cut the extra hours for some project that feels CRITICAL but is taking away from the beauty of watching my 10 year old grow into an incredible human. I’ve cut the deadline that HAS to get done in overtime instead of claiming the art inside me that wants to burst forth with reckless abandon. I’m done burying my dreams before they’ve been watered, soaked up the sun and been tended to.

Enough. I’ve had enough.

Two months ago I got serious about sacrificing a portion of my financial income and dedicating a portion of my time to the garden my heart wants to tend. Making. Giving. Generosity. Kindness. Commitment to honoring our planet and the beautiful humanity growing alongside of me.

“I have time” is not something people often say. And I won’t be offering that to anyone anytime soon unless I’m damn sure it’s something I feel called to. I’m making space for a season of rest and space to metabolize this pandemic. I’m figuring out how to honor the sacred of those who I’ve lost, because it still hurts. And I am here to whisper a poem from the depths of my open heart and send it floating on the wind.

That judgy-ass brain that tells me I need to work longer can go shove it.