Skip to main content

Small Moments

Here's the thing. Sometimes, in an effort to convince myself that I am spiritually sound and full of faith, I ignore things that bother me. Do I think it's a good idea? No. Do I think that I am fooling people? Some of them, yeah I am. Do I think that God is unaware? In the moments that precede my doubting His existence I am certain of it.

Today life is crashing around me. Today I have no more internal space on my hard drive to archive the emotions. They are spilling down my cheeks and calling audible plays in my sobs. I am cuss out loud miserable.

No freakin' answers from me. No comforting verses. Today I don't even want a do over. I just want out. Sad part is I have no where to go. So I will shed some more tears, drink some more coffee and try to put one foot in front of the other as I pace the confines of my home and hope for reason to prevail.

The trouble with being single is not having someone to tell that you're on the edge. The trouble with blogging about it? There is no one to slap the histrionics out of you and tell you to get over yourself or hold you and tell you it's all going to be OK. The good part about being real in a blog is that somewhere there is a Christian who may stumble upon this and recognize a piece of their puzzle and not feel alone. The only thing worse than feeling this way is believing that no other Christian ever has been so miserable. Certainly to feel this destitute you have be a complete failure in your faith.

Yeah, even people trained in biblical counseling have moments of spiritual poverty. Poverty? Make that bankruptcy. Good thing my salvation doesn't draw from my personal account. Wait, I wasn't going to give answers was I? See that? I can't even feel sorry for myself correctly.

I feel better already.





Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Spiritual Aphasia aka Senseless Theology

I was recently asked why I read theology and follow theological debates. "It's all just words and opinions." Words. Words on a paper, words on a blog. Words that travel invisibly through our airwaves and our minds. What would our inner monologue consist of without words? Harsh words, gentle words, untrue words, and solid you-can-die-behind them words. They have secret lives in the depths of our souls. They overflow in torrents of grief and joy. They seep out of our character flaws, wearing down the weak convictions that hold them back until they contaminate all those around us. All of us are stained within and without by the raw sewage of unkind words. Our souls are in jeopardy for want of The Word. Jesus Christ. The Gospel. The Good News. Words matter. Doctrine matters. Theology Matters. What you win them with is what you win them to. I study theology because I was lost too long in a world that scrambles truth with its own ideas and preferences. I was fed a diet of tosse

Super Church a song for the Emergent-sy

In the early 70s I was in a youth choir at my church. Our youth pastor was a musician and his way of connecting with us as a group was through the choir and music. Somehow there was an affiliation between him and The Continental Singers, New Hope and Jeremiah People. He was worked with Moishe Rosen of Jews for Jesus too, I think. Are any of these names familiar to you? Though I remember the church fondly I was a profoundly lost and troubled young woman during my years there. That and time have muddled the memories quite a bit. Today I was digging through some old paperwork and one of the books to the musical we did. It's Getting Late For the Great Planet Earth, a folk rock oratorio by Cam Floria. Yes, that's right. Cam Floria put Hal Lindsey to music. There's a lot to laugh about and some to groan about but as I was looking through the songs and remembering, I found this little ditty and I only wish I could sing it for you. Just remember that this is circa 1972 and even th

What if.....

...what if I just need a place to let some words spill out? What if they spill out in bouquets of bright colors and pleasing scents but their frames are made of snakes and lies? Will you the reader be able to tell? Will it matter? When words smell like lilacs and honeysuckle do you care what lies beneath them? Perfumed syllables cover the stench of hope's decay. A violet or two will fool most surface dwellers, allowing them to pass by quickly and unaware.  Is that what words are supposed to do? What if my aesthetics with words are similar to Morticia Addams' with flowers?  What happens when luscious blooms are discarded?  When the ragged silhouette of thorns is all that remains will you still see the beauty?  Perhaps we'll find out.