It had been a long Sunday. One full of taking out the trash and changing toilet paper rolls for over 100 people. A day of hurting feet and not enough Starbucks.

So I sat on the tailgate of my loaded down truck parked next to the dumpster as more trash was brought around, ending my tasks with a deep breath and my eyes set on the still blue sky of a summer’s day.

I hadn’t been sitting for long before I felt my phone pulling me out of my daydreams and back into the reality of the moment.

I had a new text message.
It was a number I didn’t know.
All it said was Romans 10:14.

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It hadn’t been a bad day. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, no dramatic entrance or exit and no crazy story to recap at night’s fall.

Yet I sat here, curled up in my bed, listening to others sing out the words of my heart as the open window let the smell and sound of rain entangle the silence of an empty house.

And I breathed deep.

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I found myself restless; the kind that leads your body into this fidgety state of being, full of heavy sighs and repeated leg movements that can’t quite give you a comfortable position to sit in. It was my inability to relax as a result of anxiety or boredom, offering no physical or emotional rest despite the desperate want of my spirit.

At least that’s what Webster told me.

The day had passed on and I had watched the sun travel across the sky, bringing shadows out of hiding to glide across my sunny patch of forest ground and steal a bit of my desired warmth on this solitude day of Satur.

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