Reflection 007

Last weekend, I sat down after a busy few days to rest. And by rest, I mean I wrote. I wasn’t necessarily sure what I was going to say, but I felt like it’d been too long. I also felt like my body was screaming at me to push pause.

You see, I love October in the city. The weather and colors are changing, and those of us in the city seem a little less inclined to moan about the end of summer (like we typically do in September). Enough time has passed since that final warm beach day, and we’re here, just doing fall.

However, “doing fall” can also mean over extending oneself, which is where I think I started to find myself. Yes, I enjoyed much of what I was doing, but I’d gotten off my rhythm of personal time. So, last Saturday, I did just that; I had an “I” night. (“I” is for introvert.)

During that writing session, my fingers started chopping away at this idea of being numb. I still don’t know if that’s fully how I feel, but it’s what ended up on this website. Yes, I have a ton of joy in my heart right now and some many reasons for which to give thanks, but I think the numbness derived from one aspect of my life. It’s an area that still carries some weight, and while it can be good to keep talking about it, it also can be detrimental. I feel like that line in Mean Girls:

[about Regina]: (in her mind) I was a woman possessed. I spent about 80% of my time talking about Regina, and the other 20% of the time, I was praying for someone else to bring her up so I could talk about her more. I could hear people getting bored with me, but I couldn't stop. It just kept coming up like word vomit. (out loud) I have this theory that if you cut off all her hair she'd look like a British man.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it gets most of my point across. Regardless, it’s something I find myself still needing to surrender, trusting that the Lord is for me and loves me deeper still.

This all leads me to a mount of pure bliss that happened earlier this week. I was taking a stadium cycling class at Swerve, which is something I’ve done a handful of times before. It was early in the morning, and I just wanted to crank out a workout before starting the day’s list of tasks.

Backstory: I’m a runner, and I used to despise the idea of cycling. It was a turf battle type of thing. However, when I moved to New York, I tried a cycling class for the first time and got hooked. For me, it’s the perfect combination of intensity and jams. Also, backstory: I’m a music guy, so much of my joy and motivation comes from music.

Thus, I do particularly well in these cycling classes when the playlist is good. This means that the instructor has some level of musicality in his/her bones so knows the exact built thats required in the progression of songs to yield a good combination of sprints and hill climbs.

On this particular morning, Instructor Eric was totally hitting his marks. And if you’ve ever taken a cycling class with me, then you know that I can get really into the music choices. So, this was definitely happening on during this class. Then, during one of the transitions, I realized that not only was I experiencing joy because of the song, but in some weird way, I was experiencing joy in the Lord. In some weird way that can only be through the Lord, I was experiencing this moment of thankfulness and gratitude to the Lord. Yes, even during some secular, EDM-style song.

In that moment, I almost felt like I was getting emotional, and no, it wasn’t the sweat. It was a “Thank you, Lord!” type moment, pointing to the fact that all of my strength and joy and hope can only come from and be sustained by the God of the universe, my friend, father and Redeemer.

So, yes. Sometimes, I feel like I’m word vomiting my emotional baggage, which brings a pit to my stomach. In those moments, I’m thankful for the grace extended to me by my community, and I’m also thankful for those random surprises when the Lord uses something that can so easily be overlooked or tuned out to point his child back to him. To be filled with joy, and to bring him praise