Affirming the Infirm

I get alot of affirmation from my friends.

It seems many people enjoy listening to me talk about God and about faith. It seems that people feel edified when around me. In another season of my life I would have denied this were even possible, let alone true. But that season has passed. If I lift people up, praise God, for that desire has always been at the very center of my heart.

But it occurred to me yesterday, with a somewhat discouraging flavor, that I do not evangelize, so much as struggle publicly. Often, I feel I cannot speak with authority on spiritual things. I cannot shine as a beacon and say "Yes, this is the way you must go." Often it bothers me, because I feel useless. Someone needs help and a guide, some bit of strength in their life, and all I can offer is my own weakness. How helpful is that?

It seems to be though.

Many of my relationships, from my skewed perspective, feel one-sided to me. I feel as though I reap all the benefit, all the strength and affirmation, while at the same time giving nothing back. I humorously described myself to my roomate as being a black hole of spiritual energy, over which the rafters of the church groan from the crushing gravity of my despair. Haha...

Its not THAT bad.

Even IF that analogy were true, black holes DO vary in mass. Some float around in space with little matter around, just massive enough to form a singularity. Others form the centers of entire galaxies. Given the size of the Church and the scope of God's grace, I suspect that my problems are not quite enough to bring the entire structure crashing down into the unreachable darkness ;)

But I have decided to believe that it is NOT true.

It seems one need only look at the evidence. I have said before that the goodness I experience in my life, and most especially in my relationships, are windows onto the Goodness of Christ, from Whom all Good things come. So I return to my first paragraph:

I uplift people. Even though I often can't see it. How?

I wrote earlier, I struggle publicly rather than evangelize. But what is this evangelization? Teaching and preaching with authority? Certainly that is an aspect of it. The Church does it. But there is another aspect of it. For Christ did not come to earth only to preach, teach, and work a few miracles, only to flit back up to heaven and say "K guys, now y'all know better!"

He did all of these things, but it was not these things which were our salvation.

It was his Cross. His suffering and death. It was the moment when he ceased to teach with his voice and his authority and stepped down into the darkest place of our existence, our suffering, our pain, our misery, our death, even our despair, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabbacthani?"

This is our salvation. The moment of grace. Not when he stood in the synagogue, but when he hung broken on the Tree, reckoned a sinner by all. Appearing no different, no better, no more accomplished than the very theives he hung beside.

This is the office of a Christian: there is a time to preach, and a time to suffer along side. A time for com-passion. To suffer with.

Scripture tells us this about Christ: Although He was a Son, He learned obedience from the things which He suffered. And having been made perfect, He became to all those who obey Him the source of eternal salvation. (Heb 5:8-9)

Christ, Him who was without sin, was made perfect by his suffering!

And so shall I be. In my ignorance, I could not see it: I thought the idea of "struggling publicly" was somehow less than my duty and calling as a Christian. That better was expected of me, true evangelism, more authority, more confidence.

More arrogance??

Time and time again, when I stand in the presence of my struggling friends, I am brought to my knees by my own struggle, and all I have to offer them is my own weakness.

My compassion.

There was once a man who thought about this too. He talked with Jesus about it. Here's what Jesus had to say: "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

Here's how the man responded: "Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." His name is Paul, and it was in this manner that he basically built the church among the Gentiles. Thats a tall order.

St. Paul wasn't afraid to be open about his weakness. He entertained no notions of superiority. He struggled like everyone else, and told pretty much every church he wrote to that he did.

He struggled publicly. And look at the grace.

Therefore, I too, will glory in my weakness, the the power of Christ may rest in me as well. It seems to have been already, according to everyone around me.

Now I just have to start glorying in it ;)

Roots in the Desert

Dear Readers,

We all seem to be in a time of life where we feel we are waiting for something big, that it is on its way, but not here yet. All of us understand how difficult the waiting game is. How hard it is to be content. To not be discouraged and depressed, and we've all fallen into that state and helped each other out of it many times. One of you has encountered a certain message on the order of nine times which has encouraged you, spoken to your heart, given you hope, and made you glad. I too, once had a similar experience. It was not a verse of scripture, rather, it came through a good friend. I was a sophomore in college and perhaps in the thick of my struggle with depression and trials of faith. My good friend who was rather acquainted with my struggle comes down into the lounge one evening with a nervous look on her face and hands me a piece of paper. She would like assurance that she is not crazy, she tells me, and wants to talk to another of our friends whom we both respect alot just to make sure. I ask her what it is, and she said that while in prayer, she was interceding for me, and felt moved to write. After typing and printing it in blue ink on ordinary white paper, she brought it down to me, neatly folded. I opened and read, and this is what it said:

My son,

In drought you are learning strength, diligence, and desire; you would have taken My mercies for granted, but you will treasure them and find them more sweet and dripping with honey through long desiring. By learning to stand firm and live like a tree in drought, you will be able to pour my blessings through yourself and to others in times of abundance. How well you will be prepared to minister when you have abundance!
Even common food is exquisite to a fasting man; I will give you to break your fast with honey and sweet wine, with feasting. I have kept you in waiting to learn patience, in dryness to learn fervor, in doubt to learn compassion, in darkness to learn dependence on Me.
When I bring you to the mountaintop, when I fill you with strength and wisdom, when I loose your mouth to speak blessing and your hands to the work I have prepared for you, then you will know through long desiring that it is I, the Lord, who has done this. Even my beloved Son entered the dry wilderness to prepare for ministry, even after He received the Holy Spirit. He, even Christ, was subject to every temptation and to the attack of the evil one. Stand firm, beloved, for I am refining you as with fire, I am strengthening your desire because I desire you.
John 20:29 "Then Jesus told him, 'Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."
Also, Matthew 5:1-10 (The Beatitudes)

I cannot tell you what joy and comfort these words brought to my heart. Words that I had longed to hear from the mouth of God, each one was precious to me. It seems to me that God spoke to me through someone else at that time because on my own I could not hear him for all the din in my own soul. I still have that paper, faded and creased. I asked myself the other day why God has not spoken to me in this manner again, and it seems to me the answer was because now I can hear him, I simply need to apply myself and listen.

This message came to me in the context of great trials of faith and interior darkness. That experience lasted with varying degrees even after I graduated, in fact, right up to the point where I wrote my second ever entry to this blog. Trials continued after that, but took a little bit of a different shape.

I wonder how I can interpret this message now in the context of my present. Should it be interpreted? Is it meant to be a lasting source of comfort and encouragement, or was it a message for the time and is meant to be laid aside, and remembered only as a proof of God's faithfulness? I know this is not a verse of scripture, and even if it were, God speaks differently through Scripture each time: the same verse can have hundreds of different meanings depending on what He wants to tell us.

As I write now some of the trials of faith have subsided, but perhaps only because I am no longer in an atmosphere which breeds questions. But I still feel like I am waiting, seeking. I still often feel dry and discouraged. Does this message apply now still? I do not know. Was it even really from God? I should like to think so (and so would my friend I think too.) All I know is that I still live in hope for that day when my fast shall be broken with honey and sweet wine. And I reflect on myself, and what I have learned thus far in the journey. Have I learned to stand firm? Do I treasure the mercies of the Lord? Have I learned patience, fervor, compassion, dependence? I think to some degree I have. I think I still have farther to go. My battle now is to find contentment, which in a sense I think would be a certain fulfillment of those virtues. Standing firm, dependent on God. I do believe there is a Psalm about waiting on the Lord. Unfortunately, I can't remember where it is. If anyone knows, feel free to let me know.

Decision

Today when I was driving home from my friend's apartment, reflecting on the decision to either live in Marietta because it would be easier at this point, or to search hard for someplace closer to Lancaster, I wondered something about the nature of decision.

Where is God in my choices?

Part of me wants to think that the choice I am inclined to here is the one God will bless me in, but what if that is not so? Who is to say that God wants me to live in Marietta? Granted there are pros and cons to it and all that, but honestly whats to say I'm not simply too lazy to really seek someplace else? So if I move to Marietta, and have a hard time there, its not like this was God's cosmic will for my life...I just made a decision and reaped the rewards of said decision.

Also, I bought a white dress shirt which I technically don't need, since I already have one, I just don't like the collar and it feels a little baggy on me. Yet right now money is tight and I feel I've already spent too much money. Should I return the shirt, or keep it? And does God really care which way I go? I don't believe he wants to micro-manage our every choice; we are given free will and are therefore responsible for our actions. I have a hard time thinking God's cosmic will sounds like "Shawn, I really want you to make a small sacrifice and save this 20 dollars. You will be more responsible for it." That might be true, but why would God have an opinion either way? Honestly, I don't think something as dumb as a shirt really needs to be agonized or discerned. Its a shirt.

I believe in God's total sovereignty. I believe that He is in control of everything and that nothing takes him by surprise. I do not feel that God might try to say, get me a job, but "gosh darn it, I'm sorry Shawn, the economy is just bad right now! Not much I can do. Hang in there." Sure, the economy might be bad, and thats definitely a reason why I couldn't get another job no matter how hard I tried, but I also believe God was not allowing it for a good reason: namely, I was simply discontent and selfishly trying to claw my way to a life of relative comfort and ease. So this line between sovereignty and free agency is a difficult one, no doubt.

So, will God bless me in Marietta? Or do I just want to do that because its easier? Will everything be okay if I keep the white shirt? Or am I just being overly concerned with style and discontent with what I have? Am I overspiritualizing this whole thing?

Do I even care what God wants in this thing called life? Or am I just afraid of being screwed over for making the wrong choice?

Shoes & Blues

*sigh*

I am so easily swayed by the opinions of others. I am like a reed in the wind. For all my life, perhaps my biggest spiritual battle has been one with confidence & discouragement. Confidence in myself, in my abilities, in my social acumen. Confidence in God, in His love for me, in the Church. Always has been a struggle.

I recently bought a whole mess of new clothes that I really like. Spent alot of money too, well, by my standards at least; I rarely spend more than 100 dollars at once unless I am paying a bill. But, for once I think, I look good. And that made me feel awesome. I got some sweet new colors for dress shirts and some beautiful new ties, including a black shirt and white tie: something I've wanted for years now. I put those on and I was the new hotness in town, hands down. My new clothes made me feel confident, made me feel justified in my purchase, and excited that I could actually ENJOY what I was wearing each day.

Then I moved on to shoes.

Yes, you all read my previous blog. I fell in love with some ushy gushy leather soled sandals but passed them up for what I thought was a more practical and comfortable option. And at least on par with the originals as socially acceptable. But alas, it turns out the there is nothing short of widespread hatred toward crocs in this world. And the assumption I had about them being socially acceptable was based on the fact that they were a brief fad while I was in college but continue their existence now largely on the feet of hospital workers, chefs, middle aged moms, and little kids.

Damn.

I was really quite miffed at myself and downright embarrassed when, after telling my co-worker that I had bought crocs, received a look of utter disparagement. Embarassed because of my previous, elated celebration at owning a pair. Miffed because, why the heck should I be EMBARASSED for wearing something that I liked and were comfortable? Miffed at my own lack of integrity and confidence in my own decisions it seems. Yeah, so they're not very pretty I thought. So what, they're a summer shoe. People walk in the dirt, mud, and water with em. They don't need to be pretty. But apparently I was wrong.

So for the rest of the day I was actually depressed. It was made worse when the sentiments of my co-worker were matched by nearly everyone on the planet (though perhaps in a less scathing way.) I proceeded to agonize for the next few days over these dumb shoes and the fact that everyone hated them. I felt my previous confidence sliding away, and I was irritated that I had seemingly wasted 26 bucks. But most of all I was furious with myself for being such a noodle spine that my confidence had become so tied to a pair of stupid shoes. Aren't I a child of God? Did not that same God in Flesh find me worth giving up his very own Life? THAT is where my dignity is, not in a pair of crocs.

I'm sooo concerned with attracting a woman. Thats where alot of this comes from. And yes, I know that character is infinitely more important than any external physical thing but I also recognize that you have to be attracted to the person that you're with. And face it, I would like to be attractive. I wonder if part of me actually believes that wearing a pair of crocs will affect whether I can get a date or not. Geez.

So now here I am, wallowing in self-pity because I chose the wrong pair of shoes. It did occur to me to tell the world where it could stick its opinion, but honestly, this whole experience has soured me so much that I'm probably just going to return the dumb shoes. I heard they tend to collect bacteria anyway, and thats kind of what I want to avoid in the first place. Hows that for a weak rationalization?

Have you ever been in love?

Dear reader, something burdens my heart that I must reveal, and I hope you will bear with me through it all.

I went and fell in love.

How many of you have been here before? I was looking for so long for that right fit, that perfect match, and time and again there has been nothing but disappointment. Something right, but something also wrong, and so it never worked out, more often than not, failing before it even began. And each time my hope grew fainter. But finally, finally, I encountered that perfect fit, and it was not long before my heart was utterly captivated.

When we first met I was surprised by the initial tenderness of the relationship. Usually it takes a long time for the parties involved to really mesh, get to know one another, adjust to one another's contours. But in that first rendezvous I knew I had found something special. I tried, like I always do, to control my heart and let my reason reign, but as time passed all that remained was the feeling. It was there when we sat together, when we looked at each other, when we walked together. What it was was almost ineffable, I think somehow i filled some emptiness in her, and in return I received such sweet caresses.

Perhaps my use of the past tense is already making you nervous. So I will tell you now your impression of where this is heading is most likely correct, unless you are a very unusual person. I loved everything about her! The way she looked, the way she walked, even her quirky little tendency towards leather. (The only other person I've known who went about clad in leather was my mom, and that was only on occasion, and because she likes the smell.) I mentioned tenderness? Yet underneath that tenderness was a core of strength. She wasn't clingy but when we were together I really felt that she was there for me especially. In addition, she was from a large extended family, though she had only one sister. She was also fun to be with; in fact so much so that we all felt most complete when the three of us were together. Honestly, it looked not only like the makings of a great relationship, but of a future family. And my readers know how much I love family. She was top of the line, posessed of integrity, and fashionable. You know, the kind that makes YOU look good when you're with them. Have you ever been made to feel so special?

But as time progressed I began to have doubts, like I always do. Self doubts, and doubts about the relationship. I can be quite a demanding person, as anyone who knows me can attest. In return I try to always be there for those close to me, to support them, because they support me so well. But honestly, despite all her integrity, all her virtues, I just didn't know if she could go where I was heading. Could she really handle the stress? Was her integrity enough, or of the kind needed to persevere with me? I loved her, and she I, but I just don't think that she would have been able to tread through thick and thin with me, through mud and water, and remain the same. In the face of it all, I don't think she was made for me. I would hate to have been the cause of her putting up a big stink after our relationship had aged, and I was especially sensitive to this because it's been a problem in the past. In those relationships, we both turned sour, and only extended time apart could help, but the problem was always right there when we came together again.

My heart resisted my mind at first, as it usually does. I looked at all the possible options, anything to justify that this relationship could continue, could persevere, and be worth the investment in the long run. I called all my friends. Not being close to the situation they could only offer me limited advice, but my friend Caitlin offered me the most cogent council, without even meaning to. She reminded me that what I have always valued above all else was simplicity. Ruggedness. Earthiness. I've always believed that none of these are antithetical to beauty but rather constitute its true heart. Its one of the reasons why I think Caitlin is so great, because I think she bears all these things in herself. It was she who finally helped me see through the haze of my feelings.

As great as we looked together, as great as we felt together, we were not meant to BE together. We were just too different, meant for different places, different walks in life. And so, sadly, and with a little apprehension, we parted ways. Can you understand the apprehension? There was a certain security in knowing I had found a relationship so wonderful; would I ever find it again if I gave it up? But one cannot live in fear and uncertainty. I think she understood me, being so wonderful. I think our decision was mutual. We decided to take one last walk together, a slow one, just to savor that feeling one last time, and honestly, it was a healing moment. We began to accept the situation and become excited for the future. When we parted ways, we parted friends.

I am almost certain all of you can relate. Most likely the answer to my question, "Have you ever felt this way," was yes. But, dear reader, have you ever felt this way about a pair of sandals?

I left the Bass Outlet store with hope for the future, in search of that simplicity Caitlin had reminded me I had always wanted. With just a little gas left in my car, but alot of hope in my heart, I drove back toward the mall I had left 10 minutes across town a whole three hours ago. Because there, I knew I would find my hearts true desire, a pair of Crocs.

Crocs are of a totally different class than the beauties I had so recently parted ways with. My previous relationship was steeped the virtues of timeless fashion and personal integrity, but it was all just too complex. Too many materials were involved and while it meant the relationship could be high quality, it could not go as many places. Crocs, at first glance, look cheap; some might even say ugly. But I have learned three lessons in life: never judge by appearances alone, time often changes one's perspective, and almost always trust the consensus of good friends. With these three lessons in mind I approached my rendevous with destiny, and lo, I was not disappointed! It only took a little time of getting to know these new additions to my life that I was extolling my companions virtue. Crocs are simple of design and construction; one rubbery plasticy material throughout provides me with comfort and protection. Crocs will stay with you except through maybe the stickiest of circumstances because they appreciate your whole foot through a convienient ankle strap. Also, they are low maintanence and LIGHT, able to respond to my spontaneity and, with great alacrity, be out the door with me at a moments notice. Their presence is always known and appreciated, but NEVER weighs me down, either physically by their mass or emotionally by fears for their integrity. Whereas with my previous love I HOPED she would be with me through it all, with my new love I KNEW she would be with me through it all. Yea reader, I feel slighty guilty, for with this new relationship my investment was rather LESS. But I suppose this is some of the selfish man in me coming through :). Perhaps also I ought to feel guilt for being captivated by a new relationship so quickly after my previous one, but perhaps I was also a little taken by the pretty face and excellent service of the girl in her junior year at Millersville University who sold them to me...

But what of my first love? The one who breached the dark night of despair with that shining ray of hope? Have I forgotten her? No, reader, I have never forgotten her, and will never forget her. This experience has taught me much, I have gained much from both relationships, but of that first love, I can and must say that she has forever left an impression on my sole.

Living for the Weekend

In trying to sort through the usual upsetting mismash of negative thoughts I find myself bombarded by, I have stumbled across one which I feel safe posting up here.

I discovered that I have been living for my days off.

Now, perhaps this is completely normal. I suspect most people with normal jobs and normal schedules watch the clock and count down the hours until the end of the day. And the days until the end of the week. Further, they probably divide up the day into noticable land marks so they can say, at this point, I am 25% finished. I do it all the time...I come in and the first two hours usually go by fairly fast, and I'm counting down the time until my coworker comes in. Then I can take my lunch. If I take my lunch a little later, then I've pushed that 50% landmark back a little farther so I can say upon returning, "Now less than half the day remains."

I am constantly looking forward to the time when I can be released from the burden of my work to the freedom of being at home to pursue my own interests. (The sad thing is, I sometimes view prayer as an impingement on this precious little freedom, and resent it.)

In addition, with the prospect of a job change with the advent of the new school year, I find myself trying to count down the WEEKS until I can leave Swarovski. However, this doesn't feel like a joy or a refuge for me because I am insanely nervous and as of late discouraged about my prospects for this new year.

Here's the problem: In living for those days off and straining for them with my heart, I am missing out on the majority of my time this summer. I am rushing to the end. (I find it amusing how our spirit, our perspective, has such a real impact on our life...my "rushing" has absolutely no objective effect on the passage of time whatsoever. Yet it as real a "rushing" to me as if I were to push a fast forward button on my life. Anyone seen the movie Click?)

If I keep this up, my summer will be gone before I know it, the majority of its lengthly days wasted for the sake of those precious few weekends. The majority of my life wasted for the sake of a little "fun."

I have pondered this problem before. But now it especially disturbs me. In the past months, I have usually not had two consecutive days off. So I would think of myself as only having to endure a 3 or 2 day "week" before I was "free." But now that we have a new manager, she has been scheduling my days off together, thus creating something which resembles a proper weekend. Unfortunately, this "weekend" usually takes place on monday and tuesday. But because of my fears for the future, But now that I have these days off, and the longer week, I am suddenly conscious of the fact that I am living for a mere 2 of the 7 days I have in the week. For those analytical thinkers among you, lets do a little math (This is really for you, Lisa):

There are 24 hours in a day, 7 days in 1 week. That equals a total 168 hours in a week. To maintain optimum energy and efficiency, 8 hours of each 24 hours period must be spent asleep. (Attempts to reduce the ratio of waking to sleeping hours appear to work on paper, but everyone knows that 2-3 days of a poor nights sleep causes massive wastage of the waking hours: they are so unpleasant and unproductive that they are worthless.) So, 8 hours from 24 hours leaves 16 hours, or 2/3 (66%) of each day spent awake. That is 112 total waking hours for the week. Of these 112 waking hours, 40 of them are spent working. However, we cannot merely take 40 at face value. Before work, most people require about 1 hour to prepare. Without doing any research, I'm guessing most people are an average of 20 mins to a half-hour commute from their work place. Now, on a good day it takes me about 17 mins to get to work, but all in all I give myself 1.5 hours total prep and transit time before my shift begins. Its a 20 minuite drive home, but factor in the time it takes to clock out, gather my things, walk to my car, and undress and get comfortable at home, its a half an hour. The total time spent at work is 8.5 hours (half hour unpaid lunch.) So, 1.5+8.5+0.5=10.5 hours of my 16 waking hours each day is devoted to work. 10.5 x 5=52.5. 112-52.5=59.5. This means that 46.9 percent of my time awake is given to work. 53.1 percent of my time is "mine." However, factor in that most fun activities achieve maximum joy levels when unconstrained by the mere 5.5 hours left from each 24 hour day, so, the sort of recreation that occurs on the weekend is much more rejuvenating than that during the week. Consider the other demands on one's time like shopping and paying bills and cleaning. So if we place the hours of freedom on a weighted scale and measure the weekend hours alone, we have 16 x 2 = 32, from the 112 total waking hours, which is 28.6 percent of my total time. Therefore, if I live for a mere 28.6 percent of my life, that means a shocking 71.4 percent of my life is wasted. I am living at 28.6 percent efficiency! I am 71.4 percent DEAD! It strikes me that the saints are really the most efficient people, squeezing every oz of life from every minute of fun, work, suffering, prayer, joy, sorrow. They operate at 100% efficiency. In fact, because God is so overabundant with his gifts, His saints overflow with more life than they can contain. They operate at levels HIGHER than 100%. More than they could ever do on their own. 130, 150, 200 percent alive! Or, in the words of Our Lord, "And some seeds fell in good soil, and sprouted, and they yielded much fruit, thirty, sixty, and a hundred fold!"

If we consider the deficit of life in the world by inefficient livers like me, then the world desperately needs saints who literally overflow with life for the whole world. How unlike them I am.

I find that when I write these blogs, I often answer my own questions. I expected to end this one with no answer to my question. But here I've found one, made more real to me perhaps by the humor in my mathematical analysis. I still am struggling alot. It strikes me really that I should be disgusted with myself for the spirit which lay behind my time calculations: many many people have far less than 53.1 percent of their time to call "their own." Yes, I am disgusted with myself indeed.

I have much more to say and would love to edit for style and syntax, but I have to go, because I am at work. How ironic...

*sigh*

Big Backyards

I discovered something the other day.

I learned that all back yards, no matter how big or tiny, have the potential to be infinite.

I returned from a retreat with my youth group last Sunday tired out and in a contemplative mood. The sun was still up and the sky was, for the most part, clear. Andy was out doing something and I was alone. All was still. So I grabbed a towel and went into the backyard, laid it down upon the soft green grass and stretched out to stare at the sky. The clouds that evening were cirrus clouds, the kind that are very wispy and form at very high altitudes and are, incidentally, my favorite sort. So as I lay on my towel (which in an odd sort of way reflected the sky my gaze penetrated, being a faded azure with a whitish bleach stain in the middle), I began to lose all sense of perspective. All I could see were the tips of tree branches at the very edge of my vision, and the lazy and silent parade of the evening weather, lit by the setting sun. For an hour, perhaps longer, I lay; observing the clouds change from white to pink, the sky darkening in hue, the airplanes glinting the remaining vestiges of day, being high above the shadows in which I now rested. In them I remained while I prayed, and listened.

I have not engaged in such dynamic non-activity for a very long time. Perhaps since I was a child. Needless to say, the opportunity to have a backyard for three months is one I relish greatly. I almost feel like I'm on a three month retreat. But I digress.

About the time the first stars were making their appearance, the chill of the evening was also making itself apparent. So, satisfied, I sat up slowly on my blanket. Apparently not slowly enough, as all the blood rushed from my head and I got slightly dizzy. In this brief moment, perspective returned in a non-violent, but still suprising manner, as my formerly unbounded vision once again became subject to the familiar nearness of the objects surrounding me. I blinked once, twice, having a slight difficulty comprehending; has the world always been so small? I smiled to God and to myself, and as I think of it now, I realize further meaning in my experience: sometimes we need to be taken from our own narrow perspective, and rest on the firm Rock who dwells beneath, before, behind, and within us. And that any backyard, no matter how small, has the potential for infinity, if only one is willing to lay and rest.

Bazooka Bubblegum and a Tired Jaw

Alright, I'm back.

After almost a year, I suppose I'll try this again. I'll tell ya why I stopped.

After posting a number of suberbly written and creatively illustrated blogs (lol), people began to shower me with praise. "You're such a good writer! Keep posting, I want to hear your thoughts!" Even my parents started a blog, on which there remains one and one only post. Under the onslaught of all this praise, I began to feel as though I had to perform. I began to THINK about my blogs, to record ideas in rough form for "future editing", so they could eventually be "presentable" for the blog page. And when I began to think about my blogs, they became work. And to someone who already struggles with laziness (perhaps the fact I am typing this on my work computer right now is a testament to that) a mode of entertainment which feels burdensome loses its appeal. Its like chewing a pack of gum which quickly looses its flavor, (bazooka brand specifically comes to mind, because it sucks) and then makes your jaw tired. Such is only good for spitting out.

However, I like reading my friends' blogs and I had some nice thoughts to share so here I am again. No guarantees I'll stay, but whatever.