House on the Rock

Ever since I first started trying to write consistently, there’s been a trend: almost zero words are produced from the end of September to the end of October. It’s never a deliberate decision, just a gradual ramification of the brain fog that comes with the longest stretch of the school year. The sooner-setting darkness outside mirrors my gradually declining mental state, when nothing seems more enticing than coming home from school and staring at the TV until I fall asleep.

I remember sitting down in my classroom on the Tuesday after Labor Day. I rolled out my desktop calendar and breathed in the promise of a new month. Sparkly succulent stickers donned the paper border, and I optimistically scanned the page for the nearest break. No matter how much a teacher loves her job (and trust me, I love my job), there’s always a keen awareness of that next break. It’s how you survive. It’s how you exert the right amount of energy at the right times, spoonful by spoonful, instead of pouring yourself empty at the beginning or saving stamina ’til the end and wishing you’d given more.

But I was a bit stunned to see there was, in fact, no break in sight. Nothing — no gaps, no holidays, not even a four day week or a half day. The closest thing to a break was the PSAT day, and proctoring a standardized test to forty freshmen isn’t exactly my dream vacation.

Wow, I thought, as I flipped from one week to the next to the next. We have only full weeks until the end of October. That was September 3rd.

It was in that moment that I knew I needed a plan. My students were amazing and I was living my dream job, but the honeymoon could only last for so long. A survival strategy became imperative.

From this recognition, Days of Awe were born. They started out as self-care days, but the connotation of such a label butts heads with my cross-carrying Savior who calls us to deny ourselves and follow Him. Plus, I knew a Starbucks drink and a candle couldn’t sustain my soul for the long haul. It was time for something deeper.

Paul David Tripp observed the following in his writing on awe:

“No other awe can give my heart the peace, rest, and security that it seeks. I came to see that I needed to trace awe of God down to the most mundane of human decisions and activities.”

So awe of God. That’s what it was going to take. That’s how I was going to make it to the end of October. That’s how I was going to come up on the other side of this gauntlet with peace and rest. Awe.

I began building in small moments of marveling at my maker and finding awe in His provision. Slowing down, stopping to smell the roses and actually considering the hand that wove scents into every flower. Taking the long way to work so I could see the sunrise for longer. Worship music around a bonfire. Slow walks with my honey. Colorful meals that overflowed with flavor and reminders of abundance. Frequent readings of the resurrection.

There were a lot of times I missed it. I’d get to Friday afternoon and realize I hadn’t taken any time to bask in awe of God, so I’d whip through Culver’s on my way home and hope that a greasy Butterburger would ignite my soul with wonder at our galaxy-breathing God. Or I’d accidentally call it “treat yourself day” and become so focused on my Starbucks order that very little thoughts were spent on my Savior. Many times I faltered, but the principle remained intact: find ways to remember God’s goodness to me.

It’s the faithfulness journal but on two feet, and I’ve found that it’s a sweet way to trudge through ongoing grief. To mitigate fears of the future. To find peace and rest in the mundane moments. And to barrel through a breakless October.

When the light at the end of the tunnel feels far and I’m tempted to binge some mind-numbing show, may awe of God sustain my soul for that season. When no breaks are in sight and the brain fog settles heavy, may awe of God sustain my soul for that season. When time on earth seems so long and Heaven feels so far, may awe of God sustain my soul for that season.

It’s fall break now, and I finally feel like writing again. The times of slowness and stillness have brought about great refreshment, but what got me to this point is the Days of Awe: thinking big thoughts of a big God and marveling at our maker. Day after day, for the long journey home.

Join me!