The PBS Blog

I logged into Instagram today and received a message that spoke to my heart.

In the video, the sister spoke about not becoming desperate. In context, she was referring to the desperation we sometimes feel to fill a void in a quiet season. Not her exact words, but that’s the gist.

I’ve been quiet on both my blogs (I haven’t posted much for about a month or so), and I’m just getting back into social media.

I could say it’s because I’ve been on amazing vacations with my family (we’ll talk about that in another post), and that I am still working on the poetry contest. Semifinalists announced next month!

Both of these things are true, but it’s not the whole truth.

The whole truth is that I am also working to finish a book and make some decisions on other important matters that require my attention.

It is also true that I haven’t felt motivated to post much.

And that doesn’t mean something’s wrong.

I’ve been doing a lot of writing; it’s just that blogging and social media haven’t felt all that important to me in this moment.

I have been having a really great time touching grass, literally and figuratively.

And I’ve been learning that when you are in a season of stillness, it’s important not to try to find something to do to fill the quiet before it’s over.

I’ve learned that it will cause you to rush into a timeline you might not even be equipped to handle just yet.

Rather than allowing yourself the time to grow, you’ve “traded your Nikes in for a pair of shoes you can’t even walk in,” to quote Q from Love & Basketball.

So, after many weeks of quiet on the blog, this is the message I received:

When you find yourself alone with a decision—whether it concerns relationships, friendship, business, or any direction of your life—be careful not to become so desperate for an answer that you rush the process.

Because desperation has a way of making anything look like an opportunity.

You may reach for a hand simply because you’re tired of waiting, only to find yourself holding cards you never wanted to play.

Sometimes the greatest act of faith is sitting at the table, resisting the urge to fold or reach, and trusting that the hand meant for you is still being dealt.

Sometimes it’s remembering that there is movement even in stillness.