Really is a lonely word. Hat tip to Billy Joel.
When I started writing, at the tender age of oh, 6? I didn’ t think much about the blending of sounds and phrases and what they might mean to me in the future. In fact, it didn’t occur to me until much later in life that the method I chose to communicate with might actually be more revealing than what is actually being said.
Whether through letters, emails, cards or here in blogdom I have always found written communication to be the most precise way for me to share what is rambling through my consciousness.
Not that anyone really cares all that much.
What I hadn’t counted on was the toll it would take.
See I can’t afford to be gray in many areas of my life. I am as brutal with myself as I am on paper. Or when talking to someone else. I don’t excuse bad behavior, irresponsible choices or faithless character flaws. Not in me.
Don’t get me wrong. I crawl to the foot of the cross as many times a day as I recognize the Holy Spirit correcting me. Some days are stellar and some are shocking.
I have had quite a year my friends. From a pinnacle of faith and wallowing in the deep featherbed of conscious awareness of G-d’s faithfulness to sobbing on the floor in my living room while I am convinced He had abandoned me.
No. Just honest.
How does one reconcile G-d is good, people suck? G-d allows, people… Well, some people just need an adjustment. But that still He is able to be trusted.
I want it to make sense. I want Him to make sense.
But most of the time following Him is like being blindfolded in an Indian spice market. There are 15 smells you recognize and 452 you don’t. You are comforted by the vanilla, confused by the cardamom and appalled by the red peppers.
And yet you still hold onto the hope that it will all blend to be something wonderful. Someday.
Food analogies. C’mon, did you expect anything different?
I have found myself in a quandry and, oh my dear reader friends, how I wish I could come to you for counsel on these matters but there are even things that I must keep quiet about. And it grates on me. Oh yes it does.
I find myself commiserating with David, “How long, oh Lord, how long will the wicked prosper?” I say what I can, when I can and I am baffled at His timing while remaining thankful that it’s His timing and not mine which is in question.
Writing part 9 of “The Story” was one of the darkest spiritual times of my life since I’ve been a believer and it frightened me. And it refined me. And it clarified much of my childish expectations of my Father.
And I repented. And threw myself into His care. Because if I didn’t? I was afraid I would cease to exist. My spirit was in shambles.
So now I’m writing part 10.
And the reason for this particular train of thought on honesty?
I’m not sure what this next chapter will cost me. But I am convinced that the Truth is worth it and I know Abba will keep me.