Today an old friend of mine and I sat on the patio with a piercing breeze pulling at our shirts, thwarted off by laughter and the sun’s precious rays. Then more friends came and doodles and silliness were plentiful. Old friends are nice.
I just caught myself brewing. Yes, brewing. Like a storm. That’s what self wallowing will do. It will build into a pressurized internal dissatisfaction. Sometimes I convince myself that I could be so happy with my picks and choosings. I wonder how many situations I’ve already taken into my own hands. It’s imaginable that I’ve robbed blessings. Acted before God’s outcome for me was clear. The world is so appealing. Bugh. It will not win me over.
This conflict is increasing, is my self still decreasing?
Too many times I just want. Too many times wistful thinking wants someone instead of thee One. Some arms to be held by. Some eyes to be sympathetic toward. Some feet to walk beside me. A form that I fit with. I just want to nestle down into a space where I fit. I crave a good snuggling. This cold weather gives me the cuddles for the snuggles.
I have nothing new to give.
I’m not sure. I’d like to say a few things. Not sure how to say so though. Real yucky thoughts. It’s all true anyways. I’m nothing especially special. I don’t have anything to offer. I’m unlovable. Yet, You’ve directed this great love toward me. It confuses me.
I’m like a northern kingdom, slowly being destroyed by Your love. It’s beautifully horrible. Doesn’t feel good. Break my heart for what breaks Yours.
My heart isn’t nice and pink and new. It’s puffy around the scars. There are bits missing, that I’ve given away. It’s seared with smoke and char. It’s easily detachable, convenient when the time comes to throw it before an idol. I don’t want another. I want another, but I don’t want to want another anymore. I want to be okay with what You have to give me. If it be grief, I want to be alright. In isolation and desperation and times of laughter and times of complete sorrow that I know nothing of, I want to be steadfast because of my Heavenly Father’s Love in me that is so complete it directs every characteristic of my being. I don’t want to have idols. I don’t want to be an idol. I don’t want to praise idols. I don’t want this lust for idolatry.
Rebuild me. Make me an arc. I’m advocating this kingdom to the Son who was given, the Wonderful Counselor, and the Everlasting Father. Make me fuel for Your fire.
On 16 February 2011, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton gave a speech at George Washington University in which she condemned governments that arrested protestors and crushed free expression. She lauded the liberating power of the internet while failing to mention that her government was planning to close down those parts of the internet that encouraged dissent and truth-telling. It was a speech of spectacular hypocrisy, and Ray McGovern was in the audience. Outraged, he rose from his chair and silently turned his back on Clinton. He was immediately seized by police and a security goon and beaten to the floor, dragged out and thrown into jail, bleeding. He has sent me photographs of his injuries. He is 71. During the assault, which was clearly visible to Clinton, she did not pause in her remarks.
I'm gleaning so much wisdom I can't even literally handle it. Literally. As in, I'm hearing so much gewds that I am physically telling myself to slowly digest because I really want to hear these things.
I don’t want to brush this off. One thing at a time. Appli-freaking-ation.
My thoughts, actions, controversies, hopes and firm beliefs toward true love are increasingly … increasing.
I should stop scaring dreamy eyed teenagers with my rants of selflessness, sacrifice, purity and intimacy in marriage. Seriously. I’ve been scaring people.
There is so much to be offered. When it happens for me, I’ll be offering myself. I’ve given my mind, body, and spirit one time before, to my Lord Christ. He has given me a universe of love to keep in my own heart, paid a debt I could never bear, and called me Joy before I could understand. And when time comes for me to have communion with another after the model of God’s communion with His church bride, I will be all I have to give. I wouldn’t want to offer worn pieces, just myWHOLEself.
It’s a heavy task, preserving. I’d like to think it’s worth it. He tells me it’s worth it. He claims I’m worth it. He died so I could be worthy of true love.