things have changed. i have a girlfriend. i can't believe it.
it's hard. it's stretching. it's so good.
i've never needed the Lord more than in these past four weeks, seeing my own depravity is such a beautiful thing, for He is always closer than once thought. He's nudging, pushing, yearning for me to come into the deeper parts.
my response is necessitated in a Genesis 22 fashion. this is good. He is good.
regardless of my investment, my maturity (whatever miniscule level it has become), or my systems, the festival of horns is not guaranteed.
Saturday, April 26
Tuesday, April 1
solitary
it's 0127 and i'm sitting outside of library west looking out across the plaza.
not a soul anywhere...
no cars.
no krishnas.
no slackliners.
no buses.
no sorority girls.
no noise, sans sprinklers.
no motion.
i could get used to this.
wait, a guy literally just walked up, pulled out a flashlight and started rummaging through the recycling bin. now he's going through the trash can. he doesn't look homeless, maybe he's collecting bottle caps or something. random.
i take this stillness, this slow-motion film, for granted far too often. a systematic life, confined by calendars and one-hour blocks of time, has decayed the perceptions of a moment without momentum.
the serpentine puddle of water creeps ominously near.
what is the root of this yielding of time, this allowance of unredeemable moments for something so far inferior to what could be grasped? where does the seed sprout from? to overlook the miraculous reproduction of cells right before our very eyes, even in this scenery of stillness, what a tragedy.
how easily i could conform my perceptions of my Deity into this finite aperture, allowing only a truncated stance based upon the monotony of this american life. yet there is so much to be held, to be felt, to be assimilated within my own fallible heart, a heart of gross misconceptions concerning the metaphysical Truth.
i desire this to be played in slow motion, this american life, as how the sheets of rain waltz across the march skies, how the curtains of Grace billow in His laughter.
i need a slow motion heart.
not a soul anywhere...
no cars.
no krishnas.
no slackliners.
no buses.
no sorority girls.
no noise, sans sprinklers.
no motion.
i could get used to this.
wait, a guy literally just walked up, pulled out a flashlight and started rummaging through the recycling bin. now he's going through the trash can. he doesn't look homeless, maybe he's collecting bottle caps or something. random.
i take this stillness, this slow-motion film, for granted far too often. a systematic life, confined by calendars and one-hour blocks of time, has decayed the perceptions of a moment without momentum.
the serpentine puddle of water creeps ominously near.
what is the root of this yielding of time, this allowance of unredeemable moments for something so far inferior to what could be grasped? where does the seed sprout from? to overlook the miraculous reproduction of cells right before our very eyes, even in this scenery of stillness, what a tragedy.
how easily i could conform my perceptions of my Deity into this finite aperture, allowing only a truncated stance based upon the monotony of this american life. yet there is so much to be held, to be felt, to be assimilated within my own fallible heart, a heart of gross misconceptions concerning the metaphysical Truth.
i desire this to be played in slow motion, this american life, as how the sheets of rain waltz across the march skies, how the curtains of Grace billow in His laughter.
i need a slow motion heart.
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