Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer. (Psalm 61:1 NIV)
Please welcome author and kindred spirit, Lynn D. Morrissey! You are in for a treat today. As always, with an authentic and apt turn of phrase, Lynn brings a lyrical reflection on the depths of her soul. Her words resonate with the reader (you and me) in ways inexplicable, yet in perfect harmony with the Spirit of God at work in each of us. Thank you, Lynn for sharing your words and heart felt cry to our heavenly Father.
Extravagant Vagabond
by Lynn D. Morrissey
I am scattered to the wind. Like a prodigal dandelion puff, seeds of my life are blown hither and yon—disheveled, disarrayed, disorganized—a plethora of piles … of files, books, magazines, and paper scraps scrawled with note fragments of things to do, places to go, ideas to pursue, dreams to realize—but no thought fully formed, no brainstorm finally completed.
And I, emotionally and spiritually? What’s my state?
Stoic. Frozen.
My laissez-faire laxity makes no sense if my outer world is a reflection of my inner one. (At least that’s the theory: Your surroundings reflect the state of your soul).
One would think I’d be upset. My outer world is fraying at the seams of seemliness, and my inner spirit just doesn’t care.
What’s with that?
Shouldn’t our inner and outer worlds harmonize if we are to be persons of wholeness and integrity?
I long for that.
I’ve always struggled with disorganization and distraction. The irony is that most people are surprised by that true confession. They think I’m just being humble, self-deprecating. They think I was born hyper-organized and super-focused.
I’m not sure why. I’ve never pretended to be. I hate hypocrisy. I tell them the truth—that I’m a mess, but they don’t believe me.
Perhaps people assume my perfectionism (to which I’ll readily admit in areas like writing) translates into domestic fastidiousness. Not! Not one iota, in fact.
I’m the wreck of the housekeeping Hesperus. No, my house is not a zoo. You could walk in and generally find it more or less passable (unless you’re Martha Stewart). But underneath my roll-top at various times, or in closets and file drawers and the music cabinet, and always on my kitchen table, disorder lurks. I straighten stuff, and then it undoes my best efforts. My books, papers, and music have a heyday proliferating, I tell you (especially when I’m not looking). They’re pesky like that.
Unfinished projects hide out too—like boxes of photos needing album homes, an address-book with names crossed out and scribbled over from nearly twenty-five years ago—stuff like that. It used to drive me nuts, but now I’m oblivious.
And my use of time has become a wayward thing . . . I’m a vacillating vagabond, wandering from purposeful writing pillar to frittering-Facebook post—distracted to the n-th degree—rudderless.
I could try to analyze this (and have). I can blame mentalpause, a proclivity towards ADD (undiagnosed), perfectionism and procrastination, the gift of creativity with its deliciously divergent tangents, fear over asking God to resurrect dreams that didn’t pan out the first time, and that feelingless “hour of lead” I experienced after my beloved father’s death, which has morphed itself into leaden years.
I’ll confess it here: I don’t know what the problem is—problems are.
But I do know Who knows.
And He isn’t telling.
I don’t even know that knowing the cause is immediately important. I simply need rescue. What’s critical is that I plead with the Savior to save me from myself—to submit to His intervention, to ask that He live His life through me to enable me go forth in His Spirit’s power.
After years of walking with Christ, I’ve lately become aware that often I’m walking alone. No, not alone as in abandoned, but alone as in going it alone moment by moment. I think, unwittingly, I’ve been living this Christian life all wrong. Yes, I read my Bible. Yes, I worship. Yes, I pray. But have I compartmentalized (fragmented) my relationship with Jesus into aforementioned spiritual “boxes.” If He is the vine, and I am a branch, why am I not consciously abiding in Him? More often than not, as I look back, I think I’ve been living in my own strength without even realizing it—operating in my flesh as it were. It’s not been purposeful, but it’s a surefire recipe for fragmentation; I’m crumbling under my own solitary wayward and wandering weight. I have not been living the “exchanged” life.
So rather than ramble on in my journal following these endless rabbit trails to search for possible causes of chaos, I make an impassioned, poetic plea to God. I pen an alpha (acrostic) poem, because I know it is a small container to hold my big cry. Its laser-like precision will hone in on what I long to say, but don’t know how. At this time, journaling, my go-to prayer-mode to converse with God, will be too open-ended.
Yes, yes … this poem is exactly what I want to pray, what I need to pray. Lord, I know you will not let this cry go unheard or unheeded. You are strengthening me, saving me, giving me your power, your control to live my life in You, through You, to You, for You. I need You right now, and You are right here.
I realize that You have always been …
Extricate me, Lord, from this vagabond life of
X-travagant dissipation.
Tame my time, and make me holily temperate.
Restrain my sin-filled, wandering waywardness. Make me
Attentive. I am
Vacillating in every direction, as scattered as
Ash on a windy day. Oh, God!
Gather me up; gather my thoughts and deeds and desires into Your
All-encompassing Person, purpose, and passion. Make me
Negligent of all that seeks to distract or allure.
Tether me to You. Give me Your
Vision for my life—Your singly focused eye.
Attune my ears to the perfect pitch of Your voice.
Galvanize my will to Yours.
Attract me to Your Word, your world, your way, so I’m no longer
Blown like a prodigal puff of dandelion seeds, scattered
Out in every conceivable direction. Draw me to sit lengthily at your feet. I
Need to know You in submission. I need You now, more than ever, to stop my
Downward spiral of destruction. Seize me! Rescue me, Lord!
Lynn D. Morrissey is a Certified Journal Facilitator (CJF), founder of Sacred Journaling, a ministry for reflective journal-writing, author of Love Letters to God: Deeper Intimacy through Written Prayer and other books, contributor to numerous bestsellers, an AWSA and CLASS speaker, and professional soloist. She and her beloved husband, Michael, have been married since 1975 and have a college-age daughter, Sheridan. They live in St. Louis, Missouri.
Poem and other text by Lynn D. Morrisey (Copyright 2016. All Rights Reserved.)
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