Today, friends, I extend to you an invitation.

Imagine, if you will, a cozy sitting area—plush, overstuffed chairs you can disappear into, a fire cracking in the fireplace, candles on the mantle.  Imagine a warm and fuzzy blanket pulled up around you, your hands cupping a mug of tea, your feet tucked up underneath you.  See yourself taking a deep breath and exhaling it with a weary sigh, as we begin to dialogue, talking about that which weighs us down and that which lifts us up.  Feel the peace fill in the spaces that are vacated of stress as you empty out all that binds your heart, your mind, your body.  Hear the still, small voice, now that the internal storm has quieted, whispering, as it has all along, I’ve got you.  Don’t be afraid. Can you imagine it?

I can.

If the last two or three years could be described as a gradual shutting down of my internal life, this past year would then be best described as a full stop. The culmination of my own health struggles paired with the as-close-to-rock-bottom-as-you-can-get-without-being-comatose year my daughter was experiencing had the effect of completely pulling the plug out of an outlet that was already barely functioning. I couldn’t. Do it. Any. More.

Having already retreated internally, this past year was effectively the shutting of the door, closing me inside, shutting me off emotionally from the world.  I could blame it on the spike in pain last winter.  I could blame it on the intense mental fog I was experiencing daily.  I could blame it on the bone-wearying fatigue that made gravity doubly-heavy, particularly around my couch and my bed.  And to do so would not be claiming half-truths. All have contributed to my internal processor being off-line.

But, if I”m to be honest—no, that’s not quite right.  I just said they were all true, did I not?  So it is best to say if I’m to be vulnerable, I would have to admit that I just couldn’t bear the emotional weight of all of it any longer and I turned all that was inside of me OFF.  I stopped my practice of contemplative prayer.  I stopped journaling.  I stopped spending time with scripture outside of work.  I stopped talking about how I felt.  I stopped thinking about how I felt.  I stopped praying about how I felt. Internally, it all went to black.  To static.  To white noise.

But then, this past spring, I began feeling that same stirring again to be writing.  Which was weird.  Because, for me, to write was to feel and to put words to those feelings.  If you’ve ever read my writing before or heard me speak, you know too well that my fingers on the keyboard are as equally attached to my heart as they are to my head.  So the startling itch to once again write was, well, startling.

As I am wont to do, I didn’t just start writing. Instead, I agonized over it.  I tried to come up with a “plan.”  If I was going to write, I needed to have a reason.  I needed to have a message.  I needed to have a niche.  So I got to thinking.  I brought out my old strategic documents.  I read through old files.  I reconsidered my passions.  I thought about what it is I really love to do.  I reflected on the things that make me uniquely me. And, as I am also wont to do, I began to worry.  I worried about having something worth saying.  I worried about being able to maintain a writing schedule.  I worried about the limitations my own body now placed upon my life.  I worried about hitting a wall again.  I worried about getting ahead of God.  I worried about failing.  I worried about succeeding.

And then, finally, FINALLY, I actually prayed about it.

And one day, as I was praying and sitting quietly, I felt the Lord drop a single word into my mind.  A non-word, really—a Lorie-ism of sorts.  That word was functionalish.

And I knew, instantly, what it meant.

And I knew, likewise, what I was supposed to do.

There will be plenty of time for us to get acquainted—for you to learn about me and my daughter and for us to learn about you.  Time for exploring just what it is we’re about and just what in the world we mean by functionalish. Time for nosying around and reading a little bit about what’s been on our minds this past month or two.  But right now, today…

…I imagine us curled up in those two chairs, getting comfy, settling in for a long and satisfying conversation.  I imagine us getting passionate about the calling we feel on our lives, talking animatedly, hands waving and bodies at attention.  I see us holding space for one another as we acknowledge and grieve all the losses little and big we have suffered along the way as our lives have in one way or another been limited by our own bodies. I picture us laughing at one another’s sarcasm as we rant about the most ignorant comments ever made to us and compare side effects and supplements and strange diets.  I envision us getting passionate about life again—learning to live abundantly, in spite of our limits.

Today, I extend the invitation.  There’s a seat here for you, if you’d like to join us.

So, welcome to Functionalish. Come on in and get comfy. I just know we’re going to be fast friends.