too much is not enough

Every week, I find myself composing posts in my head in response to Julie’s Hump Day Hmms.



Only twice have I actually managed to write them – three times if you count today (for which the prompt is Too Much of a Good Thing). I do realize that in order for this to still be considered the day of the hump, I would have to lie about my time zone, but I am a lot closer to timely than I have perhaps ever been before.

Ah, the world of blogging. It is, indeed, a marvelous world – full of quirks, unexpected beauties, free humor, and even a seedy underbelly (which is simultaneously more and less despairing than its corporeal sister). I remember stumbling into the world – not through fur coats in a wardrobe, but in hungry anticipation of a few friends’ words.

I? Do everything by obsession. Reading my friends’ blogs was never enough. It wasn’t long before I was clicking on everyone in their “favorites” lists. Pretty soon after that I was reading every archive in every blog on those lists. Ever the people-watcher, I found myself following links from links until I eventually lost track of the starting point. Finally I started to write.

And then came Mary (and a simple comment to me – my very first from someone to whom I was not already in some way connected).

Not only did she fuel my desire to read more and dig deeper, but she began to coax me out of my shell, and I actually started commenting on blogs from time to time. There was never enough time in the day to express all of the feelings of love and compassion I had for so many people who didn’t even know I existed.*

You know, when you have children, for some strange reason they expect you to pay attention to them once in awhile?

When I read books, I sometimes go on a marathon of reading. I read while I cook, while I bathe children, while I teach school, while I converse with little ones. I sleep a lot less than I need to sleep for days on end. And then? Just as suddenly as it began, it ceases. I read the same sentence over and over but absorb nothing. That’s when I pick up the puzzle books.

Did you know that it is possible to do kakuro for 12 hours straight without getting a migraine? Or maybe this month it is spider solitaire (or freecell, or a rotating list of favorite versions of solitaire from the program boasting its 144 different options).

They stop. They return. They end again - ebb and flow with the cycles of the moon.

When I first fell in love with Jesus, it was with the roller-coaster thrill of emotional response. The passion waxed and waned - my commitment level piggy-backing on the tide of feelings.

For me, at first, there is always too much of a good thing. Sometimes those initial bursts of overmuch peter into nothingness. Other times the waves continue to beat a regular rhythm, rushing in to fill any void.


The happiest endings? Occasionally, as with my relationship with God, there is a stabilizing that comes with the maturing of a bond. There are still oscillations, but the extremes are less profound. There is still passion, but it is of a gentler, deeper sort that permeates the secret reaches – that comes from knowing and being known.

*I did eventually come to a relatively happy ending with the blogging. I got selective on how much I read and how much I check up on. I still never have the time to comment or write that I wish I had. One of these obsessions, maybe I will learn to type.