The Long and Short of It

I do not plan on making many vulnerable entries at this site. Living in Portland, I have found that we (including myself) all take ourselves, our problems, our pain, and our artistic license....entirely too seriously. With this in mind, most of my thoughts will fall in the range of silly and the all together ridiculous. Because what better way to cope than to just laugh.

And so I will keep the following endeavor short.

I have given up, because in the event that I should fail...I surely will, fail.

Ladies and gentleman, such an event has finally happened upon me. It has become strikingly clear that I can no more fix myself than a home schooled child can burn his or her jumper. And the imagery of a friend, foe, counselor, pastor, mentor, or parole officer showing up for the fight has faded from the hopeful dreams in my head. In this moment I feel utterly alone, useless and dare I say it...broken?

Yet, I do not crave "authentic community", "home community", "artists community", "community gardening", "intentional community" or anything of the sort. Also, please do not elevate my brokenness to a god state that excuses the weight of sin or consequence. Diminishing the uncompromising beauty of purity and holiness will only aid my withering state. I need no more excuses, outs, pats on the back, conversations, self help books, medication or compliments.

But rather, push me out into that fearfully dark unknown called, submission....and wave to me as I take my holiday at the sea. Alone. Hurting. And with Him.

To put it plainly? What I so desperately need cannot be found in this world, and though my head always knew...only now is the ache in my heart completely in awe of such a truth.

And now...if only...if only I weren't so tired.

These are my thoughts for the few who read, and the many more who do not.