Saturday, January 15, 2011

What are you?

I'm sorry.
I couldn't quit thinking about feeling that... thing bloom in my head, like paint dropped into a jar of water, I'm sorrysorrysorrysorry.
I think he does that on purpose- waits for a time when he knows you'll be most convicted afterwards, and then. pounce. He does a good job, clean cut, no mess on his part.
I can't think about it anymore.

Now, in this moment, I guess this is feeling God. He feels good. Soft, but not fuzzy. Gentle, but not weak. Gracious, but not incapable. Loving, but not naive.
Why can't I seem to carry Him with me?
"God", "Bible", "church", and my immediate thoughts involve peppermints during the offering and waiting for our dinner time prayers to be over so we can just get on with it.

I remember curling up on the church seats and putting my hands over my infected ears because the music was too loud. Rolling around and kicking on my bedroom floor on Sunday mornings, screaming that I wished I was dead, or that everything was perfect. Begging for Altoids and more stories, because my stomach hurt. Fourth grade, talking with the counselor every recess hour about stomach aches and stupid friends. Sitting at my desk at home with my little blue decorated notebook, turning inward on myself. Resting on the couch, wrapped up in an afghan because I was too tired to do anything.
I don't think things are supposed to work the way they did.
But I'm thankful for this moment.

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