I
have been at the beach; the glorious, pounding, grey and green,
swirling swell. Heaven. I have a confession, though, I cannot deny. I
am chilled by and scared of the beach. The tossing and crashing of
that chaotic beauty is slightly more than I can bear. And yet, when I
swim out, fresh and scared, I settle. I find the peace that I was
desperately searching for on the foamy shore in the cool, blue,
rolling hills. The waves are behind me, the sky is ahead. Heaven. I
love coming back, digging my bare, pale toes into the sand, down,
down,down, and then letting the incoming tide wisp more sand around
my ankles and up, up, up. The water goes to my waist. Laughing, my
head goes back as the next wave splashes into the clouds above me.
Euphoria bubbles out in an expressive expanse and flail of the arms;
in the shake of my head as I blink the salt out of my eyes; in the
uncontrollable giggle that escapes- loud and full- into the air.
Heaven. Heaven, heaven. Beauty and freedom surround me and soon,
become me. Beauty. Freedom.
Saturday, 21 September 2013
Thursday, 12 September 2013
Journal Entry One-Hundred-and-Four
I
have drifted. Again. It is as if my heart has collapsed for a moment.
A long moment, sure as heaven I'm not feeling clearly. I can think
marvellously, but my heart- oh, me. This is strange. It is not a bad
state from the looks of things. . .I mean, I'm utterly fine.
But
that's just it. I'm fine. I don't want to be fine, I want to be an
extreme. I don't want to 'fit' into this apathetic suburbia-scape. I
want to be head-over-heels in awestruck love for God, or deeply
angered; enough to know the release of forgiveness when- if- I accept
or receive it. I want to be wracked with sadness, just to grasp the
peace that would wash over me like a cool wind off the ocean. I don't
want 'fine'. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want
freedom, I want goodness. . .and I suppose, in a funny way, I want
sin so that I can understand glory. I have an insatiable appetite for
'everything'. I want to swallow it whole. I want to be rich in
soul-filling growth and goodness.
Perhaps
that is it.
Perhaps
I am poor in spirit.
Yes,
I suppose that is me.
Oh,
look. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom
of heaven." (Matthew 5:3) What hope. Certainly, though, we can
be poor in spirit and not do anything worthy about it? Perhaps the
kind of 'poor in spirit' that Jesus promises to reward is the
kind that starts with the emptiness, but continues with the search--
the search for God.
I
don't want fine. I want God.
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