Thursday, August 07, 2003
I tied my wishes to a string so I wouldn't lose them when I sent them to the sky
Words borrowed from someone else:
It's not a good feeling to have things eating up at you so much but finding no place, person, manner of disposing of it. Helpless to help yourself. Or so you like to say. Sometimes I want to isolate myself from everyone. I don't want to hear anything you have to say, anything you are doing, anything you are thinking. It just makes me think less of myself. It makes me angry with myself. With
I think I've heard it said once that only 3 kinds of people talk to God: the faithful, the desperate, and the crazy - and not necessarily in that order in terms of frequency... nor are all 3 groups mutually exclusive.
The above pictures were from this weekend's youth workers retreat from my church. Saturday morning we were given a couple of hours to sort of collect our thoughts and pray in solitude, so I went out to the beach to stare at the Pacific and fly a kite I had brought with me.
The nice thing about getting out of the city during a retreat is getting away from the masses of people and having some quiet. It's in enjoying nature that I feel better able to connect with God, sort of in the same way as viewing a work of art gives you insight into the artist. Standing out there, in the cold morning air, feeling the wind on my face, and smelling the sea breeze... it was nice.
Meditating on this past year though, my mind seemed to generate an entire monologue addressed to God about the events of this past year - a few praises drowned out by a multitude of questions, those doubts that have always persisted from the discontent that I always carry buried inside of me.
I'm not a moody person, yet at times, that feeling of discontent washes over me and I don't how to resist it. It's a harsh bitterness that chills me to my core, and the echo is my own self-loathing for having it. When it comes, I just want to be alone, as if the despicable feeling floats around me, an infectious predator waiting to pounce on an unlucky passerby, like some sort of spiritual SARS.
There's a self-righteous part of me that like Job, wants to call out God, a part that wants to call Him down from Heaven to deliver a deposition about the meaning of events X, Y, and Z in my life. The Job in me wants a detailed map of the blind path I've been given to follow or at least an explanation. But as personal as God can be, to me, He's still like the ocean. I know He's there, but He's unfathomable, inconceivable, and beyond the edges of my ability to fully comprehend how He operates. It's all veiled in the fog, depths I can never see or learn.
Deep calls to deep at the sound of Thy waterfalls; All Thy breakers and Thy waves have rolled over me. .:Psalm 42:7
It's hard to have a long distance conversation when the person you dial never returns your calls. So at the moment, I'm still just another kite, resigned to flying on borrowed wind.
Thanks to Dave for the kite pic. It's not the same as La Jolla burning, but it's nice.
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