Fri, Jan 25
... My way, God
In a moment I felt his fingers around mine. Strong. I didn't understand anything. I didn't understand why Zachary wanted to live. I knew I was glad. But I didn't understand.I remembered Uncle Douglas saying that we're always yelling, Do it MY way, God, not YOUR way, MY way.
Sometimes He picks the most peculiar ways.
I looked up at the sky and at the stars and at the moon, and the moon was no longer smiting me. I didn't know why. I didn't know what the difference was. I didn't understand the psalm any better now, and I still didn't understand about Anne Frank and the town of Frank, and I'd probably go right on yelling at God to do it my way when I got upset about things.
The point was that now I knew it didn't matter whether or not I understood. It didn't matter because even if I didn't understand, there was something there to be understood.
The Moon By Night, Madeleine L'Engle
Do it my way, God, not your way, my way. What a common theme running through my life. "I know what I'm doing, God, go away!" And then... days, weeks, months later... "Okay, I've screwed it up again. I have no clue what I'm doing. Really."
Will I ever learn? Honestly, will I ever stop trying to do things my way and then coming back to God with all the broken pieces, crying, "Fix it, Daddy!" when all he wanted to do was build it in the first place?
But yes, there is something to be understood. I think that sometimes I understand more than I want to let on that I do, because if I know I understand, that has to change something. Most of the time, though, I pretend I understand more than I do. At least, I pretend to understand more for the sake of the "rest of the world."
I think I'm contradicting myself, and not making much--if any--sense at all. That's okay. It's the state of my brain these days--not making much sense.
infinite || abyss
posted at 12:50 p.m.
