jet lag

Analysis of daily life in the mental fast lane shows me that I can be completely immobile, glued to my desk, and yet miles away in transactions, networking, and reality. Likewise I can live where I’m not, and while sometimes that’s necessary for moments - when I step into the shoes of others and walk that mile with them - I should be here. My heart may be on pilgrimage, but it is here, where I am physically, that children need hugs, bread needs baking, and the sticky floor needs a mop. It’s here that roses smell, and potato soup warms, and fireflies twinkle. Choosing, deciding, committing to actually be where I am is not an easy effort. Pilgrims in our era face this reality. Being physically jolted between continents is more of a spiritual jetlag than a sleepless experience. You come ‘home’ to a comfortable western setting where ennui and lethargy set tones like rest, relax, enjoy, eat, bathe, luxuriant, and experimental. Yet your soul is still back on the dirt road walking with Jesus and the people you had time for a continent ago. No one in this time zone comprehends this concept, so it’s natural to be fractured, leaving one’s heart there, where you know you belong. The act of manually forcing one’s being to be intact and wait to be released for the next stage of the journey is more wearing than the many times I dragged heavy bags up and down steep flights of stairs or was jostled for hours in uncomfortable overnight buses.

The end will explain the reason for interruptions en route. Retrospect is also helpful. Especially if I learn from it. But meanwhile today’s journey was landlocked in a small, crowded household with many chores. I kept my heart about me and heard the birds sing. The laundry got done and there’s fresh strawberry jam stashed for winter. To plod and to dance, all in one, that’s the pilgrim rhythm I’m getting the hang of.