Well, if you’ve given up on reading my blog after this two month dry spell, I don’t blame you. I even debated discontinuing my posts indefinitely since I’ve most likely lost any followers I may have had in the first place. Then, as I sit quietly in our living room this snowy Saturday morning and reflect on the past two months, I realize that my blog posts are mostly for me anyway (if I’m honest). So I will just continue and you all may read (or not read) and enjoy (or loath) as you so desire.

I used to journal all the time. So often that I would go through multiple journals each year, always keeping an eye out for the next beautiful, blank book I would fill, often listing journals as a gift idea for my birthday and holidays. When Ben and I moved (both times), we hauled the big box full of my old journals with us. It now sits in the storage closet under our stairs. Now, with a baby to keep me busy and exhausted, I hardly find time or energy to write (similar to this blog I suppose). When I finally make it into bed, I am usually too tired to want to write about my life…unless I can’t sleep for the thoughts and emotions swirling in my head. Thus has begun the unfortunate habit of writing only when my mind is reeling with worry, frustration, anger, sadness, or (occasionally) extreme joy. As you can imagine, this has made for a very fragmented and unrealistic account of my life.

Perhaps the truth is, most days don’t really seem “journal worthy.” I’m not saying they are boring, or unenjoyable, or even “uneventful” per se (each day is full of plenty of adventure when you’re raising a child)…just typical. Nothing out of the ordinary. And the days that are “extra-ordinary” are also the days that exhaust me enough to keep me from writing…or keep me from access to my journal as the case may be.

Recently I’ve had a series of “extra-ordinary” days.¬†Without going into all the gory details, I will just say that most of my family and friends would say I have “been through the ringer”, which I believe is a reference to being thrown into a washing machine- twisted and spun round and round until you feel dizzy, dazed and empty. They have exhausted me to the point that I have not journaled or blogged…waiting for the storm to pass and the dust to settle enough that I can reflect more clearly on all of it. Today feels like someone finally hit the ‘pause’ button on that washing machine and I am resting from the constant swirl.

And now, as I am able to reflect a bit, I am reminded of the parable of the sower and the seed.

I used to think I understood that parable- that it was about salvation. The sower being God, the seed being the gift of salvation, and the soil being a person’s heart. This is no doubt one meaning. But like most of scripture, it has many applications. God’s word is alive and He is able to open our eyes to deeper truths hidden in the words we’ve read a hundred times. So it was for me with this parable. I recently heard it re-explained in a new way. The sower is still God and the soil still the human heart, but the seed is any truth from scripture, any conviction of the Holy Spirit, any Word of God. ¬†When the seed falls on our hearts, we can either choose to soak it in, nourish it, let it grow, change us and produce crop… or ignore it, in which case our hearts become harder and harder and that seed of truth becomes more difficult for us to accept. If we ignore it, we can only hope that God will try to sow that seed in us again. However, just as in the case of hard-packed soil, we must often first be softened through the churning process, which is never very pleasant.

Through these recent “extra-ordinary” days, I have been contemplating this parable (this truth) and hoping that whatever seed God is trying to plant, I am soft soil and it takes root and grows and changes me and produces crop…. because one thing I know is that I do not want to have to be churned again.