I need a little pentecost...

I have begun three different times to write this morning and have run dry all three times. Two paragraphs in, I sit and look at what I have written and wonder where I am going with this. Select all, cut, start over… It has been a whirlwind spring without much time for silence and reflection. The riverbed of my soul is as dry as red clay baked hard in summer sun. When these fallow times come, it is difficult to let them be, to rest in the “not doing”. My old tapes play… get busy, you are being lazy, there is so much to do, get a move on. And there is so much I would love to do… finish painting the quilt panel for the high barn, do some calligraphy, ride Junie B, read, sew, have a party with all my women friends. But I can’t seem to find the energy needed to do much beyond what is absolutely necessary.
Some of this is physical, a response to the demands on my sixty four year old body, and some is psychological, the spring blues. My spiritual malaise however, echoes the church calendar and our history as Christians. After the long walk through Lent, the death darkness of Good Friday and the blinding light of Easter Resurrection, I am worn out. I suspect the disciples were, too. High drama, life and death and life again, fear and joy… the pendulum swings from one extreme to another had no resting place for body or soul.
And then, Pentecost came with such blinding speed out of the blue, knocking the socks off all who were present. Marvelous mayhem, words spoken and understood regardless of language, fiery crowns of spirit were an outward sign of an inward transformation. I do not seek to explain the miracle of Pentecost. I hunger for a Pentecost of my own as I pray and wait for my fiery crown. Perhaps my Pentecost will be quieter, doves not fire, or perhaps I will wake filled with the Spirit and singing (sorry, Catherine) in the early morning. However Pentecost comes, it will come and I will be ready.
Until then, I will do what I always do in times of drought. I will give thanks. I will pray gratitude and speak a litany of thanksgiving for all that has been and all that is yet to come. I will remember where I came from, to whom I belong, and be grateful for the journey with all of its joys and sorrows. And when Pentecost comes and my dry bones are covered with living flesh, I pray I will remember to sing the Lord’s song when the drought comes again. Thanks be to God for all the Pentecosts of my life, the Spirit that sings a new song in my soul year after year and the God who never leaves me nor forsakes me.