inside out

Today my thoughts roll like marbles from past to future, through seasons and ages to now. Tonight after 12.5 hours at the office I drove home in the cold drizzle longing for a summer rain that I could let drench and melt me. I was taken back to wanderings in rain through streets, cemetaries, and woods to lie down already soaked and dirty, becoming similar to the ground beneath me, flowing with the water from my body, big drops falling into my blind, open eyes, then pouring out and down my face into grass and dirt. Later I was reminded of the bright fervency of summer, in which I've moved among trees while energized by the filligre and dappling of sunshine upon me as it shoved through hot, thick air. I walked and walked paths I did not know through lustful greenery that was humming with life, drunk on sunlight, certain it would take over the world. The smell of dirt, sap, pollen, leaves and bark diffused through my lungs outward to my fingertips and through my skin inward to my heart. This solitude always feels so pure and inviolable. Truth stands there untouched, uninterpreted. In being alone there is no danger of hurting anyone or being hurt myself. There are no needs beyond the moment. I struggle to maintain balance between introspection and outward focus. I wish that I could live only for myself. I wish that I could live only for other people. Finding balance seems like finding the spot at which a steel ball hovers between two magnets, and I am so impatient.

the source, part two

I woke up an hour early this morning, so after laying around a while uselessly trying to go back to sleep I got up and did my workout.

I thought I should clarify what I wrote last night, which was really just an emotional deluge. Becoming involved in a church has been, for me, a bit like becoming involved in a romantic relationship. There are enormous amounts of passion, trust, commitment, and vulnerability that go into such a relationship. In the past I have become involved with churches only to discover that it was not a good fit. Troubling differences, little signs, and pressures that felt wrong have showed me that those churches were not the ones I belonged with. I have never felt quite the sense of rightness with any other church than I feel with VCF. I go there hungry for the Spirit, for teaching, and for guidance, and I am filled. So when I say that I am pouring myself out, it is not that I am giving so generously of myself, but rather that I am emptying and opening up places within me that I have held closed and guarded for some time. It's frightening, but this is what I must do if I am to be used by God for people.

the source

On Sunday, I received prayer for feelings of unworthiness. The person who prayed over me said that the word he was getting was, "God is your true source." I felt that this is true, and I am pouring myself out, relying on God to be my source. Whenever I feel like I'm doing the right thing, I struggle with pride. So far, trivialities aside, this has been a good week, but I am waiting for Satan to come with his accusations and lies, as he always does. I am waiting to be sifted like wheat. That is the true test. I will trust in God.

Monday

Monday and Valentine's Day combined today for a terrific effect. It started out, as usual, with the alarm clock, but my first bleary thoughts were, "This must be a joke." It wasn't. It was rainy and in the 40s all day long. I made some mistakes at work that caused problems and stressed me and others out. I still managed to get some work done, and now I'm drinking cheap wine.

It's been a while since I've posted. Or rather, it's been a while since I allowed a post to transide from the draft stage to the post stage because I've been struggling with allowing thoughts that are too personal to creep into my blog. So far, I haven't let them. I think this is for the best.

Though most of my weekend was spent doing nothing productive aside from chatting with friends online, Sunday was fantastic. There's something I've been meaning to do for the past month, which is to inquire with the church I attend, known as "The Barn" regarding ministries that I could potentially become involved in. The pastor paused for a second and told me that I should listen to the message. The message turned out to be partly about spiritual gifts but mostly about a new plan to develop new ministries and expand existing ministries at VCF. There is a spiritual gifts course starting tomorrow night, and I'm definitely going to attend. This is the most excited I've been about something spiritual in a long time. I truly believe that Christians are most filled with life (read: happy) and productive when we are making use of our spiritual gifts in the capacity of serving others.

Tonight I am anxious about a number of things. The wine helps, but I wish that I had some cash to go out and get some smokes. There's nothing like the calm pensivity of smoking. I went through my entire apartment over the weekend but couldn't find my pipe bag. It's been over a year since I've seen it, but I loved that pipe, and it wasn't cheap. Hopefully it will turn up.

Today my emusic subscription rolled over, so I was able to download the latest Innocence Mission album, some Earlimart, and some Denison Witmer.

not the weather

These are days that do not know themselves. Every morning is uncertain; many evenings are confused. The sky may be empty and simple, overflowing with blue and brightness. It may be flat and inscrutable. Or it may be variegated and complex, strewn with color, torn and mended. It is never the same from moment to moment. The air surprises with its stillness, its movement forward, backward or around. It caresses and thrashes, fluctuating wildly between warm and cold, never predictable, never settling. There are buds and pale green shoots uncurling where seeds were planted or where seeds were strewn by chance. These tender lives do not know if they look forward to sunshine or frost, yet they come because it is what they do — they have no choice. There is rain that drenches and snow that sticks.