According to whatever manual doctors consult (HB, help me here), RLS is now a diagnosable affliction. Which is astounding. Not once have I verbally communicated to my primary care physician about the fact that I’m bored in life. However, I believe myself to be a sufferer of Restless Life Syndrome. 

You know what I mean (I mentioned it the other day), when you start scouring the interwebs for the Next Great Thing, be it a job, a Ph.D. or a craft project. Or even a new haircut. Or outfit. Though my Lent restrictions have kept this pretty non-material. 
Part of the solution might be to STOP READING. I just picked up Radical and frequently play the fool’s part when I raise my hand in steady Amens. This, coming right off the tails of 7. If I were allowed to make the purchase, Barefoot Church would be waiting in the wings (can you believe the library doesn’t have a version for loan? Jen, what can we do about this? And did you notice how I just referred to Jen as if we’re on a first name basis? Well, we ARE facebook friends). 
Most remarkable is how my readings continue to widen the gap between where I am and where I want to be living. We finally have a house fit to host guests, steady jobs, well-behaved kids and the student loans paid off (private schools, may you have a private place in purgatory). Just when I should feel most settled, I’m ready to jump out of my seat at night. Much like the diagnosable RLS, it’s like an itch you can’t scratch, but it’s somewhere in your soul. 
The problem, my friends, isn’t diagnoses. It’s treatment. What do I do about it? I have an impending sense that it has something to do with being a good neighbor and living amid this new neighborhood and all that jazz. But not in a smile and wave kind of way. I believe God wants us to dig in. But as I say in about 84% of situations nowadays: What does that look like? And how do I squeeze that in between naptimes? 
The other looming conundrum: I need a people. A tribe. A support system. Folk who know I’m funny and don’t think I’m weird. That will push me when I need pushed and hold me when I need held. People who remind me I’m not always right and that everyone need not be just like me (oh, can you imagine even if there were more than 5 of me? Implosion. The world would implode due to noise and arm waggling). 
A quick Google Maps search of churches in town yields 39 results. And that doesn’t even branch to the nearby towns, like where the Big Church is. So why is it that I can’t seem to find other bodies of people who suffer RLS tendencies? OR, if they do, why aren’t we talking about what it means to live on a mission, even when it counters the American Dream? 
I’m not giving up on the current Sunday morning situation. But I’m not satisfied. And I know that I need to be, as KLR likes to chide, “part of the solution, not part of the problem” but I’m not sure how to jump in the pool and 3 months later start making waves. I’m pretty sure that it’s clear in the Church Finding Manual that making waves is frowned upon. 
Visit me elsewhere: