I write best when I'm at my wits' end. When it's past midnight. Tears are likely flowing from some silly quote I read, emotions running rampant. I fear people less. I fear God more. There are moments when I can't stand to keep quiet. But they come in the silence, the pressing silence of the night. When I'm alone, when the world is sleeping (or pretending), when the feelings run free of reproach.
It always comes to this. I always have to scream. But only at night, when I can't, shouldn't, won't. The passion to know God. The passion to do right, to do something. The fear of doing nothing. Nothing. A wasted life is what scares me most. I'll scrub toilets for Jesus my whole life if that's what it comes to. But sitting, watching, rotting, never. Is there a wasted life? A less effective life? A life that doesn't change the world? Maybe I'm looking for the wrong sort of thing. And in the wrong places. Maybe I'm writing for the wrong audience. But I haven't figured out how to write for no audience. Are there teachers for this sort of thing? I'll probably delete all this. Is that futility? Is that even a thing? Will the questions ever cease their parade? See, now I'm trying to be clever. Oh, and that's my self-consciousness, there. I notice when I'm being stuck up or vain or clever or snarky. And then I get annoyed at myself. See, I'm writing all this, that I've observed. I need to look at Jesus. This isn't going anywhere. Which, of course, everyone except me already knows. But they lie. Or I think they do. Or they just don't know. There's a lot I don't know. Like what to do. Who to be. Where to go. Why bacon is so great. The music sometimes helps. And the words too. I think they understand a bit, even the things that I don't understand yet. Yet. Yet is a lovely word. So is suddenly. That's always been my favorite. I sometimes… Is it vain to write? I mean, to no one? If that's even possible. Is it a waste? This, this would be the waste. The thinking, the sitting. What am I even doing? Where has the light gone? It's gonna come back, I know. But see, it takes getting to this place of confusion and brokenness and waste to understand myself. And God. This isn't me, so why do I worry? Why does this all come out so easily? My depravity and incompetence is overwhelming. And I need God. It's funny how you can be a Christian all your life without realizing that you need God. And I'm getting to that place, and it's nasty and it hurts and it's embarrassing to my poor little sense of pride. But I'm okay with that, because it needs to come down. Violently, or not at all. It's stubborn, and thinks it's the most important. Which makes sense, being pride and all… Seriously though, I don't know anything. But humility isn't self-degradation. Okay, I don't know Jesus at all. I've fallen for his presence, but what of his beautiful character? I could describe him to you. But do I know him? No. Despite any former knowledge, I consistently forget that he's a loving, merciful Father that wants everything for me. And joy, he wants joy for me. I feel obligated to suffer for him, when sufferings for him are supposed to be delighted in. Find joy amid suffering, dear girl, don't squeeze every drop of suffering out of the joy. Take the joy as it comes. You get to a point where there's nothing else you can do. That's when God covers you with his grace, saying, "Oh my love, must it always come to this for you to trust me? I've GOT you! I am mighty, and I am mighty to save - rest in me."
So I usually come around to the joy part, and my weary head really starts spinning, hoping that I might have found a satisfactory sort of resolution for the moment, long enough to get me to bed. Mornings are always nicer.
Birds singing their first few notes of the day. Coffee percolating. Saturday morning cartoons (what ever happened to the good cartoons anyway) chattering in the background. It's so easy to ignore the darkness when the sun is out. I can still see it, I can still feel the shadow of it. But it hides when people are around. It’s not just me and God anymore. My hesitations and my pride and my doubts hide in the corner now, where God and I eye them. He sees them clear as day, but it is day and now they're muddy to me. People make me change. They make me better, they make me worse. It's hard to say, actually. God doesn't make me worse, ever. But I can't only hang out with him. He's put people around me, put me in situations where I'm going to be changed. If left to my own devices, I'd probably run away from every awkward situation, every fear of rejection, every moment of conflict. Yet, I find myself with people around me that notice when I turn to run, and catch my arm before I can get away. They turn me back around, et je suis nez à nez avec mes peurs. And God is in my corner, so really. What are the fears gonna do? They are insignificant in light of HIM. In my weakness, he is strong.
So I suppose it's all for the better. Maybe... Refinement? It's fun to see all the big words I learn at church and at school come into action in my life. Most of the time. Words like refinement and atonement and salvation and sanctification and so on are fun. But words like desolation and procrastination and finances and responsibility and depravity and and helplessness, well, are a bit less so. But it's morning. Life is exciting, full of opportunity. I could be an astronaut, you know. Anything anything. I could feed Africa. Maybe I will.
...Okay, that was a cheesy ending. Like, OOZING cheese. Seriously, though. He can do anything he wants through me, so why not?
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