Panting, crawling; hands full of sand.

Where’s the fire of life? I feel so dry. I feel like I’m living in a desert, but that goes without saying. Every day is another headline I feel I have become immune to; Politics, war, disaster, and every so often a story of human goodness and hope. I want life, and as Jesus said life more abundant. Where is that life? Where are the people who bring it? Why am I not one of those people? I feel I live the life of a good person, but I don’t share the good news with anyone. I feel like I’m trapped in my body. I look around with a half-smile on half the time; I suppose I look grim or something most of the time. I see people having a good time doing this or that, but I don’t feel like I should participate. I’ve read about how we are to be sober, how we are to abstain from the very appearance of sin, how we are not to participate in crude jokes, party, get drunk, have promiscuous sex. These are the things I see people doing; the things I cannot/do not want to participate in. So I look the part of the buzz-kill. I don’t enjoy friendships when I move because I don’t go to places co-workers party. I’ve tried going to church, but too much of it ends up making me feel like I’ve got to wear a mask and be good. I already feel like I wear a mask everywhere except home. I do know though, as a man who knows where the stream is at the edge of the desert that church is where I can find the things I seek. I know Jesus is the person that can give me these things and more. He said come to Him those who thirst. Well I thirst Lord! I am so tired of thirsting. I am tired of feeling far away from Him and His people. I’m tired of not having friends where I live; all mine live hours away. I’m tired of paying off debtors with minimum payments, but never making progress towards freedom. I’m tired of this dry as a bone life.

Lord bring me life more abundant.

Easter Post

I feel like all I do is watch the world pass by. Everyone else is taking an active role, and I am only doing the bare minimum, which has been happening since college. When did it all break down? It could have been in high school for that matter. How long has it been since I've had no motivation, no extra drive to exceed expectations. What happened to me to begin this slide into apathy? Why am I so apathetic? Do I need to see a therapist? Do I enjoy myself this way? the answer to that is no, yet I do not have the energy to pull myself out of this. When I do, I do some mundane task like cleaning until my energy's spent, and then I did nothing past what had been lacking in my little world for a while. I feel like I'm trapped within the gravity of my world. When I write, which is something I've always felt was a part of me, I write like one page, if that, then go on to something else. I don't have a great, or even good work to put my energies towards. I think about people like my friend Manny, who wants to start his own business. I couldn't be like that. Most of the time when I think of something someone else has placed as important in his life, I find I don't think it important enough for me; or I don't feel like its important enough to waste energy on. I don't ever want to begin something if it's not important. I work like that at work too. There's things I could do that is kind of like busy work, but if it's not something important or pressing, I'll end up doing something totally different instead. Everything in my life is too based on how I feel about it. What happened to doing things because thy need to be done? Most of that has to do with how my brain works now. I haven't been able to just make my brain come up with scenarios if it's not important  How am I ever going to be able to write effectively if I can never commit to a story-line when I'm past the initial inspiration? The first day or two you can be excited about a story  The problem is that your mind already knows that's going to happen, so it doesn't really care about all the details that get the reader to the end of the story. I guess my mind doesn't come up with stories interesting enough to make it come back guessing. Maybe I have to create a story so far-fetched that my brain doesn't know what's going to happen. maybe I create story lines that are too within the boundaries . Maybe I need to start trying to think of what ifs that are hard to answer  I need to begin a story I am scared of, instead of relying on safety stories. I remember the short story I wrote for my creative writing class in college. It was called "Johnson's Run" if that tells you anything about how creative it was. I couldn't even conceive of a creative title. I guess I just didn't care that much, and just wanted to be finished with the project. I am way more complicated than anyone would guess. I think everyone is more complicated than they seem. That is a part of story I need to remember. these 2D characters I conceive of are bigger than my conception. If I cared enough to explore who they were, I would find complications that meet or exceed my own.

"Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death? Thanks be to god through Jesus Christ our Lord!" Romans 7:24-25a

I have one hope. This hope is not a what but The Who.

Happy Easter. He IS Risen Indeed!

"'Yes, I am coming quickly.' Amen. Come, Lord Jesus." Revelation 22:20b

Out of Order

Sin does not have the victory,

Yet deceit seems to.

We forget so easily that sin doesn’t have a hold for us anymore.

Each day is a struggle against it.

Each day I give in.

I fail.

Who will save me from myself?

For it is myself who believes I am fighting a losing battle.

It is myself who has chosen to believe the deceit.

Who will save me from this sin that waits on the other side of my bedroom door?

I wake up and walk through.

Sin jumps on to piggy back.

He whispers to me throughout my day.

I didn’t pray today.

I didn’t talk to the One who has the power to change this.

Instead I put the old chains back on.

I believed in myself instead,

And have regretted it deep down, inside.

The chasm grows wider,

And the chaos grows stronger.

I am an agent of peace and order,

Living in a world of great deceit,

Lying to myself, and believing the lies told to me.

I am ashamed.

I crawl back to my creator,

The One who gave His life for mine.

He gave His life so I could shrug sin off.

“You may not ride me anymore,

I am ‘out of order’ as far as you are concerned.”

Sin does not bat an eye, for he will just try again tomorrow.

I, on the other hand, have chosen the high road.

May I choose it tomorrow also.

For whether sin drives me forward then, or not,

Is a decision I will have to make again.

Each day is a struggle against it.

It gnashes its teeth hungrily.

I look up, and inward searching for strength,

And keep walking.

Who will I believe today?

An Escape Attempt

I don’t know what to do with myself anymore, besides the things that are required of me. These things push me around in my life. I feel like a pinball that cannot move on its own free will, but requires springs and bumpers to jolt it forward towards tunnels and holes contained within the machine. There are these things I would want to be; these careers I feel would define who I am better than what I’m doing now. For instance, I love to listen to journalistic stories, and short stories, but feel the capabilities of creating such a life as beyond my skill set. My unfortunate skill set sets me up as the listener for everything. For reading, I am the receiver; I haven’t been the developer. I want to create the machine, and set my own pin balls into motion. What does that mean I want to become though? Does that mean I want to imprison others as I feel I have been imprisoned? If I were a journalist, I would be talking about a pre-existing pinball, within a pre-existing machine. I would not necessarily be the creator of the device, but I wouldn't be helping the pinball escape his machine either. What would a pinball be outside of his machine though? Just a metal ball being kicked around on the floor of the arcade, by people who are dropping pizza sauce on the floor on their way to play the pinball machine (that has no pinball in it)? I suppose I need to just do something, as regards to nothing. At least doing something may lead somewhere; whereas doing nothing has a definitive and absolute end. I am tired of expecting what happens when I do nothing. I am tired of setting myself up to be a lifelong listener that does nothing about what he is hearing. What if I stood up for all those pin balls I have listened to; all their stories; and helped people at least become aware of their perspective. Perhaps part of getting out of the machine isn't necessarily getting out by yourself (after all you are a steel ball with no means of self-propulsion). Perhaps getting out of the machine has everything to do with getting someone to notice how unhappy you have been bonking around at everyone else’s whim. I don’t know if I should begin by telling my own story, or if I should always try to leave myself out of it in true journalistic fashion. Either way, I have reached the point where continuing to be the machine’s whore has been divorced from my consciousness as something I can live with.