eye/hand coordination...

It's a been a little while. Writing seems laborious lately. Even now I'm not feeling compelled from a place of passion. It's like there's a lot of life happening, but nothing really noteworthy...nothing to write home about as they say.

I'm scratching my head to know what to say from here, but I feel I need to say something, anything. I don't want to get used to a sort of linguistic lethargy. It's so easy to get sleepy seeds in the eyes of my heart and forget to cherish the moments I'm experiencing. Writing helps me to not take anything for granted, whether it be a spider web, a fallen twig or a subtle shift in the temperature. These nuasical subtlties are what make life shimmer and shine to me. I can even tell that I've fallen asleep just a little lately because of my palsy pen and my lazy eye. Writing what I see...it's the beautiful eye/hand coordination that can get lost in the living.

I haven't been sleeping well lately. My mind is restless and disturbed...it reminds me of when I would get in trouble at school and return home only to be sent to my room to wait for my dad to get home and spank me. The knots in the stomach, the slow passing of time, the inner conversations, the confusion, and illusions, the daydreaming, the heartscreaming...it's somewhat the same sickness of the soul. But during the day, I'm doing well...it's weird. I'll go to sleep and be harrassed like a skinny boy in a locker room full of bullies. It's like Nightmere on Elm Street or something...going to bed at night is like knowing your about to enter the Twilight Zone of partial-consciousness.

Last night I felt a good bit of old-fashioned Fundamentalist guilt. The same feelings I would get when I was a child and I was scared the Jesus was going to come back and I wouldn't be ready. The same emotions I would lay in bed and fret over...fearing judgement and damnation, like it or not. I just laid there and felt flogged by self-doubt and impending doom. I felt like God was telling me that he was going to curse my kids because of my naughty life. Sometimes I feel this sort of conviction is good, but this bordered on condemnation and accusation, which I've come to realize has very little to do with God and a whole lot to do with Lucifer. Just the same, it's hard to fight off at 3:24am when you're not in your right mind. I prayed for deliverance and strength. I prayed for forgiveness and patience. I prayed for protection and safety for my children and wife. I just prayed.

Today I feel quite lonely. My Saturdays can sometimes be long and lonely as I anticipate the services for the weekend. I start feeling like I have nothing to say and wander back to boyhood insecurities. Just a few minutes ago I was changing guitar strings in the Worship Space and I was struck with how absurd it is that I'm a pastor and that this weekend I will be leading adults of all ages into an experience of worship and learning...that just didn't make sense as I sat there alone in that big room. I rewound my life back to when I was in high school and tried to imagine what a responsibility like that would have done to me back then. I was suspended between who I was and who I am...stretched apart by the reality of both of those worlds. There is never a time when it's more believable to think I'm a poser than when I'm alone in a worship space before the people get there. I get nagged and pestered by either my very own alter-ego or servants of hell itself. I become, for a moment, a helpless abyss of affection. Slowly, I climb out of that paralysis and onto a firm foundation of truth. God starts to whisper--never loud enough--that he is with me and that he believes in me. I struggle to believe him initially, but His voice is quite convincing. "For I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I'm committed to him against that day." Timothy. That is a verse that I learned in my Christian school growing up that just came to me right now. It's in the KJV vernacular, but I think you can still discern the gist of it.

Well, I've gone on long enough. For having nothing to say I'm quite verbose.

I hope my hand/eye coordination comes back to me this week...I can't lose my heart for jotting down the musings of this mind and the findings of these eyes. That would be, to my heart, a grave injustice.


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