Have been pondering recently how I use my precious few moments of spare time. Perhaps not too well, in that one suspects it’s only delaying rather than reversing the general sense of burnout. Hard to know what counts as a good use of time anyway… Here’s part of a poem I tried to write, but gave up on. It doesn’t even rhyme – fail!
This time was bought at Your infinite cost
but I have the freedom to spend it;
even in writing this rhyme.
Why am I not satisfied resting in You?