It’s a gloomy Sunday in Chicago. The skies are doing their best to foreshadow another lifeless winter. It’s cold and gray enough for a subtle reminder of those frost-bitten months, but dry and warm enough to cling onto summer for just a little while longer.
On Sundays, no matter the weather, I wake up in a good mood. They’re not marked by excitement or anticipation, but instead wash over me in a flood of peace. Sundays come as a reminder that staying in bed, with an empty tub of ice cream on the nightstand and the new episode of Power cued up is always right on time. Sundays come like fresh morning dew in the space in time where nightlife has ceased but the day hasn’t quite started yet.
Sundays are my paradise.
This morning after church and a stack of pancakes, I went back home and slipped underneath a mountain of covers. I tuned the world out in favor of time alone with myself and the Spirit. On the heels of finally curating a space that I love, by way of interior design and prayer and smudging, it feels good to have a space that feels like home. I bask in it every moment I can.
I’ve spent so much time uncomfortable in my home, in my body, in my mind, that the novelty of comfort and satisfaction is something I am experiencing as a child does the world. It’s all fresh. It’s all new and it’s all exciting.
I think the intention, of growing comfortable and cozy in my own skin, spurred the necessity of this sabbatical. At the top of the year a spirit-worn version of myself declared 2019 the Year of More. And now as we begin to usher in the holidays that mark another year around the sun I crave something deeper. I liken it to the instinctual nudge of an expectant mother, steadfast in her need to get her house in order.
I am nesting.
It’s important that I step away in this season, from the world of distractions I’ve created for myself, in favor of taking the next three months to prepare for a new world. I look forward to this space, built specifically to house the full capacity of this new version of me.
When I declared this year to be more I had no idea what that really meant. I really just wanted more of myself, my life and my circumstances and so I put it out into the atmosphere.
And wow, it’s been a battle.
I can’t say much about the labor of love and agony that marks our healing because I imagine it’s remarkably different for everyone. What I do know is that the Spirit always guides us where we need to be even in the midst of our pain, our sorrow and confusion.
I’ve developed an intimate understanding about the pressure that makes diamonds. At times this year I’ve been the pressure and at others I’ve been the coal.
With just three months before the end of a decade, I feel the Spirit nudging me again, to go deeper. I trust myself to be guided.
Sabbaticals originated as a Biblical practice related to farming. A year long break from working the fields was necessary after every seven. It’s only right that I call my own break a sabbatical as well, because of the spiritual significance — after years of tilling the soil of my own healing its time for a renewed vision for this healed version of myself. You cannot prosper on the mountaintop using the survival skills you learned in the valley.
I am taking the month of October to become a student again. I’ll be taking a course in prayer and expecting miracles to happen. I’ll be brushing up on my graphic design skills. I’ll be writing for fun like I used to when I was a little girl. I’ll be reading. I will be leaning into my inner voice, my gut, the Spirit that guides all things.
I trust that this will be a month of enlightenment and that November and December will be the cherry on top of a year that has already changed me so radically.
See you on the 31st.