Adventurer. Writer. Friend.

I thought of starting this post with the title “Case of the Monday’s,” but I think that would be like saying “at the end of the day…” or “the bottom line…” or some over-used buzz word in a business meeting. I curiously ponder how many blog titles might have that entry. Even in my own musings, it seems that the majority of my rants come on a Monday morning. So what is it about Monday?

The answer should be simple and surface, right? Or is it rooted in something much deeper. For me, it is the pulling of the reigns in an attempt to slow the impact that is the clash of my personal life and professional life. It is the place where passion collides with reality. The result, on canvas, is a strange meld that in this moment seems like the sort of painting that is so abstract that few could appreciate or understand the conflict and beauty. Denial exists in a man that anyone could possibly understand the complexity of his inner struggles.

The manifestation is subtle and seemingly all-present. Case and point: last night I picked up an old book that once stirred my soul so much that I never finished it: Wild At Heart by John Eldridge. As I examined the now yellowing pages of this coverless and tattered dark blue hardback, I became aware of my emotions and was caught off guard by why an object, as such, could spark any. The condition of the book connects with me and only I know its history. You see, I carried it around for a long time before shelving it, unfinished.  Inside the true identity of the book was never revealed. Hmmm, ten pages in and that familiar stir… My mind wandered in a strange flow of thoughts that ranged from guilt to shame to curious excitement. Why did picking up this book feel wrong, or dangerous? Then I thought of the bible. My favorite bible, is in similar shape only worse on the outside. It almost lies to the casual glance. It is tattered from being carried but not studied. For the last few months, maybe since we moved, the Word has been shelved. Correlation to the Monday’s? Uh… maybe? But, how can I carry this to motivation and not shame? The thirst for the Word has always been there. Only now do I recognize its burning.

So this Monday morning, I woke up anxious again. Trying to draw a bead on the source continues to be difficult. Was it last night’s strange dream? Is it the fear of what I will face at work today? What if I fail? What if someone really knew me? Or is it a sense of urgency to chase the Holy Spirit? Every fiber of me longs to know. If I could get away with skipping work today and burying myself in the Word, I would. But I can’t.

I am restless, unfocused, and confused. Like Paul says, I do the things I hate and I don’t do want I want to do. It is the spiritual tug-of-war for my soul, no, for my heart that is causing this feeling. It is the white-knuckled grip on the safety bar and the exhilaration of letting it go to have your arms flung high as the train exits the loop. Either way, I still end up back at the dock with a ratcheting halt only to jump the ropes, run around the end to get back in line.