Summer: A Season Of Re-Creation

I’m ba-a-a-c-c-k!

For anyone who follows my blog, you may have noticed I’ve been rather silent. (At least I hope you’ve noticed!) It’s been two months since my last published blog entry, and although I tried to continue writing for a bit when the dry spell hit, it was sporadic and half-hearted at best. Writers’ block set in deeply, and sometime in mid-June, I decided I needed a break, a sabbatical of sorts. I kept meaning to get onto my blog site and let folks know, but I could not even stir up the energy to write that much.

I’d entered a period of acedia.

The word acedia originates from the Greek, literally meaning “a lack of caring”. I won’t bore you with the convoluted and moralistic history of the word (you can look it up if it pulls at your intellectual curiosity) but suffice to say, it was considered a common malady (and a moral failing!) in monasteries throughout the Middle Ages, and has had a resurgence of notice in modern times.[1] Today, acedia is more akin to our own understanding of apathy, a sense of not caring about anything or anyone.

Personally, I wasn't actually in the full throes of acedia, (at least I don’t think so), but I was in that summertime pattern of torpor, of just going through the motions, walking through life step by step, but not sure where I was going. I recognized it for what it was - not truly a depressive state, but certainly a time when I was at odds with myself, unsure of what was next, of what I wanted, or what I needed. The thought of writing a blog seemed overwhelming, so much so I questioned whether I should even continue the effort, and decided it was best to simply accept this period of literary dryness, acknowledge my need for space and time - and wait. The thought of a sabbatical seemed “just right”, and like Goldilocks, I settled into the smallest chair and decided to take a break. To sit and wait. Wait and see what came next.

Earlier this week, I awoke one morning, and just knew - knew - that this sabbatical time was over. I sat at the computer; I took out my paper journal - and the words just came pouring out. The words had returned. God whispered, “It’s time.”

My two-month sabbatical was revitalizing, as well as busy. Life certainly carried on! My husband and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary in our backyard on July 4th, (even though our actual anniversary is in August, we chose July 4th given the busy-ness and commitments of our family over the summer), and it was a special and very meaningful event. We renewed our vows in front of family, and enjoyed a sweet afternoon of love and celebration with our clan. We spent quality time with our grandchildren. We’ve enjoyed beach days, bike rides, and nature hikes. We’ve delighted in lobsters and burgers on our back porch, and have hosted fun dinners with friends and family on that same porch. I’ve had time to bake the strawberry shortcake and blueberry breads that marked my childhood summers, and to enjoy the fresh bounty of corn and tomatoes only summers in New England can boast. As I emerge from this much-needed quiet time of re-creation, I now find my mind busily “writing” about all manner of things near and dear to my heart. It is time to return to the writing, to the sharing of the “simply sacred”, to the unraveling - when we can - of the tangled web of modern life’s complexities and challenges. The words have returned.

I’m glad I took this time to wait, to watch, to listen, to pray. I’ve had time to re-create; to choose the good things, to honor the true things, to appreciate all the blessings God has sent my way, as well as discard what’s no longer useful, what doesn’t fit. This time has brought me perspective and renewed commitment to living this life I’ve been blessed with in a grace-filled and loving way. And those words! They fascinate me, feed me, revitalize me. I love words, the reading of them, the writing of them; the craft of choosing exactly the right one, the defining of heart and soul with a few choice letters. Words are powerful, deep, and true. It’s always been about the words; about the ideas that form within our hearts that, when shared, often blossom into revelation and connection. Words enrich our minds and souls, and provide us with concrete ways of sharing, whether spoken or written. For me, words are a gift to be shared, a resource to be mined, a place of growth and renewal. Words matter.

I’ve come to see after this small break that the sharing of the words and the heart behind the words is why I write. I write from the heart - not only for me, but for those who graciously read the words I write. If I can encourage just one person, comfort just one heart, affect just one friend with words that show love and lead to healing and joy? It is worth my time and effort, and all the angst I pour out into each blog.

May you, my dearest readers, continue to be blessed by my words - if even only in small ways. It will be enough.

[1] For a personal memoir on acedia in a modern context, see “Acedia & me: A Marriage, Monks and a Writer’s Life” by Kathleen Norris. (Riverhead Books, 2010).