In high school I took Russian when I probably should have been in shop class. The way my schedule tracked, I was constantly faced with the false dilemna of “working with my hands” or “working with my mind.” I wanted to be the first in my immediate family to go to college, so I did what the school counselors advised.
In undergrad, I double majored in Philosophy and English (with a concentration in Literature). Just the other night I was complaining to my wife that I probably should have chosen a concentration in writing – as if in those few minutes at the registrar’s desk I had utterly misjudged what I would be doing the rest of my life.
You could say mistakes were made. Or, another way of looking at all of that is to say that everything happened just as it should have, because I am where I am, I know what I know and I do what I do.
This morning I did some much-delayed workbench maintenance as the sun rose over the Eastern horizon. Then drove to my office and wrote a sermon. Just after finishing that sermon I wrote this blog post. Those things are never separate for me anymore. They are all a part of the same brush stroke. I cannot divide them. A flat bench. A settled mind. The spark of an idea. The fire of curiosity. The pleasure of rest.
On the other hand, I know that I cannot do all the things I would like to do, and do them as well as I would like to do them. My Russian, as you can see, is poor. I only stumble through a few words. My Greek is a little better, but it is not as good as my turning (which still needs some work). I’ve been thinking about all of the parts – which ones to embrace and which to release – and that is sometimes overwhelming.
But today, one project is finished and another waits. It’s also raining. Perhaps I’ll just take time to enjoy that. Maybe that is exactly where I need to be.