Come, Holy Spirit, Come

This past Sunday, I woke up feeling sad and lonely. I'd had a bad dream about my dad, and the crummy feelings hung with me. I've been in a yucky place lately, anyway - running, running, running but feeling as though I am getting nowhere. Unsettled with my work (tasks that need to be done, not feeling confident in the map I've laid out for the next few weeks), unsettled at home (piles and piles, more stuff than space, things left undone because of more pressing things). Two steps forward, fifteen steps back.

Despite my grumbling, we all got up and went to church. I was the only one who showed up for my Sunday school class, which meant a morning of quiet reading in a bright, sunny spot (a nice contrast to my mood) and something I've done too little of lately.

In the service, I enjoyed beautiful music and a celebration of the gifts of friends. I heard a message my soul was longing to hear - about the restoration and the power and the change that is possible when we invite the Holy Spirit to be active in our lives.

The morning wasn't a fix for any of the things that wear on me these days, but I felt more at peace than I had in many days. And an element of that peace is still with me today.

Come, Holy Spirit, come.