I like to judge people. I like when people judge me.
That is okay on a basic, loving level.
But,
most of the time,
it is never taken lovingly.
That is true.
I'll go crazy if someone asks me, "Why did you do that?"
I will instantly sweat and panic and worry.
I don't necessarily understand implications of questions.
When someone asks an open ended question like that, I freak.
Because, I assume they are saying I'm wrong somehow.
That's just a recent development.
My wife can vouch.
My wife is my best friend.
I will throw a fit if she gives me an unapproved look.
I strive for her approval. Sometimes too much.
I ask her, "what do you want me to do?" A LOT.
I don't know what has happened to me, but with all of these medical problems, emotional breakdowns, cigarette binges, and lazy days, I am nothing.
Dirt.
Coming from me, this sounds very negative. And, it probably is. I am very hard on myself and generally depressed about my own worth.
I realize there may be a plus to this: I am blank. I am dirt. I am clay.
I am ready to be written, to be breathed into, to be molded.
Sure, right now. My form, my beauty, my purpose is less than significant.
On the blankest pages, were the greatest stories told.
I hate telling people my major: Christian Ministry.
Why?
I don't use it, therefore I don't understand it.
I don't live out my belief in the perfect Love, the greatest gift, the whole life.
Bonhoeffer said that believing was what you lived out.
I believe that.
Ha ha.
But,
apparently,
I don't believe in loving the poor, helping the hopeless, speaking the truth, listening to some one's heart, being a friend, or washing dishes.
I want to believe.
Open my arms and sink this torn and sweating heart under the tide.
The Heavens eavesdropping on submerging splashes.
Water surrounding me. Ending me.
A silence of angels and time....
Broken with one
single,
Gasp.
Now,
Life begins.
Shalom. and Shalom.
thank you, rach.
