Until you wake up, it can be hard to know you were asleep. It’s the sudden head bob that indicates a nodding off. The tingling of a finger that alerts you to the previous numbness. And in those first moments, it’s nearly impossible to know how long you’ve been out.
For reasons of which I am still not sure (and of which perhaps it doesn’t matter), I spent this past summer in a state of numbness. Time marched on. Work was done. Trips made. But all in a going-through-the-motions kind of way.
There was little range of emotion. Little variation to routine. No major projects accomplished. This blog was mostly silent. There was nothing to say. I wasn’t listening.
I was sleeping. And didn’t even know it.
With the fall has come a tingling. A sense that life is coming back — the sharp stabs of nerve endings gone unused. A sadness for time lost. But also the beginning of wonder for what is yet to come.
I’m listening. I’m writing. I’m wiping the sleep from my eyes and waiting for the fog to lift and my vision to clear.
“Awake, awake! Clothe yourself with strength.” Isaiah 51:9