Good Intentions

I have the best intentions.

I mean to write a blog post every day. I mean to leave work on time. I mean to take a lunch break. I mean to go to yoga four times a week. I mean to write friends whose emails have been lingering in my inbox for months, slowly getting pushed back to page 5 or 6. I mean to call friends I haven’t spoken to in ages. I mean to love my colleagues well.

But most of the time, as the erratic posts here prove, I fall flat on my face.

I have to remind myself to not feel guilty. I am a rather guilt-plagued person. Oh I should have. If only I had. Yep, that’s me. I can make myself feel guilty about any little thing. It’s hard work, really, making yourself feel guilty about all the things you could have done differently.

And lately I just don’t have the energy for it. God has been reminding me that it’s OK, that I’m a work in progress. At times it doesn’t feel like it. I don’t even often see the scaffolding going up around my heart. If I’m lucky, I notice a rail or two. It usually takes a jackhammer going off at 5 a.m. to get my attention.

In London at the moment there is all kinds of construction going on. (Apparently there’s a big rush to spend spend spend before a new government is elected.) You can hardly walk down a street without seeing a detour sign. It’s crazy. First it was on Ludgate Hill, leading up to St. Paul’s, where they've blocked half of the street. Then it was at Notting Hill Gate, where they seem to be fixing a pipe or two. Now it’s on the street outside my flat.

And it seems like the construction on this heart of mine is getting closer to home too. It’s good. It could use a little spring cleaning. Hopefully I’ll let the guilt get swept out with the cobwebs, instead of hiding it under the rug, and in the meantime give myself a little more grace.