climbing out

How I used to love coming here to type. Coming to this screen, I mean. Because I felt like I was really talking to people, like there were others listening. Other times, I come with thoughts, but sitting to type them makes the thoughts fall apart and seem so empty of emotion, so detached. Then I can't even picture an audience, or a person who, in reading, understands the core of my meaning. And, well, that's what prayer is like too sometimes, isn't it? I mean, believing God is always right there and hears, listens, responds in his own way to every thought we have. Sometimes it feels like words or thoughts are hitting nothing but the walls of our skulls. I spent a number of minutes on my calling card this weekend trying to reach people, leaving messages, wanting to talk to someone... When every phone call comes up with the dead tone answering service, every word I read in the Bible seems so good--yet so far away--it's hard to feel connected. It's hard to feel ready for tomorrow today.

I don't know what kind of shape I'm in.

Jesus told us not to worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. I'm not even that worried about the big general "tomorrow" (metonymically, the "future") , I'm worried about what kind of attitude I'll have in the real tomorrow when I go back to work. Whether I'll come up with any good ideas for teaching, whether the students will be willing to learn... whether I'll be able to shove any of my fear and my dissatisfaction aside, whether or not I'll be able to see joy in the work--and help the students to see joy in it as well. I am, perhaps, hyping the situation in my mind. I'm worried about today--because most of my recent past days have included many prayers for me to get rid of my pessimistic attitude, to rejoice in the Lord and his good work... and I don't feel as if I've made much progress. It's as if I'm in a hole in the ground and I've been grabbing on all sides to try to climb my way out, but every clump of dirt I grab just crumbles and now the whole wall is smoothed. But I guess that's it. That's the truth--the only way out is to get help.

I don't know if I'm ready to be sold as Pottiphar's slave, but whatever it is, wherever he leads me--I will cast my cares and my burdens on Jesus, for his yoke is easy and his burden is light. I will follow him.

Gulp, gulp. Right.


Late into the night, I was thinking about faith. I've been trying to think coherently about faith a lot recently.

What isn't always confident, not always sure. Sometimes hanging onto the thread of something--even when nothing seems to change, nothing seems to point to anything more, or I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall... Faith, as also love, is not a feeling, but a choice. My choices may waver--depending on how I feel or think--though God's choice to love and to provide a way for me to be fulfilled and complete, never changes. His love endures forever.