I feel so caught in the in between. Christmas is over, but the new year hasn’t started yet. I find myself standing with one foot in and one foot out. I’m not ready to take my tree down, but the Christmas clutter that litters my countertops has me feeling claustrophobic. And as sad as my heart is to see the holiday season come to a close, my head longs for a fresh start, a clean slate. And even still, deep down, a sense of trepidation at what the future could possibly hold. I used to have a plan.
And so. These in between days when it’s popcorn for dinner and clothes that linger in the dryer cycle after cycle just begging to be folded each time I get them hot but undoubtedly forget. I think for a moment maybe this is how I should feel all the time. The longing, the waiting, the in between. Maybe expectation starts here. A heart made for heaven should long to go home.
When the fanfare ends, when the bells stop ringing and all is still, what fills the quiet voids of my heart?
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