IF it ever posts, this damned thing will be my hundredth blog. I say damned not because I’m angry but because i’ve tried to write at least four posts and each one has failed, even though they were about different things, and so now here I’m trying to write a fifth-subjected hundredth blog and I have my suspicions that perhaps, based on it’s recent fate, the thing is damned.
Then again, maybe it’s just like my life lately, and there are lots of things I think I’m supposed to start and maybe I am supposed to start them but I’m not supposed to finish them and God, being too good to let me make mistakes like that when I’m pleading for him to intervene, does.
If you’re reading this, we’ll have to go with the latter and hopefully no one is angry at me for insinuating the spiritual attributes of the forsaken to a technological medium of communication.
I was thinking of writing my testimony, whatever that means, because someone asked me yesterday what drew me to wanting a relationship with Christ. Except that nothing EVER drew me to wanting a relationship with him, other than when he finally told my heart what he did because he loved me, and that his love wasn’t fleeting, but that it was so strong that death couldn’t kill it (and not in one of those lame, ending-of-The-Notebook ways). And even then I didn’t want a relationship with Him, i just had one. And it was clear that I was always His and I always would be. I couldn’t ever walk away if I tried. Say what you will about working out my salvation with fear and trembling, I agree, most likely, it’s just that the relationship I have with my savior is the kind poets write about happening between people but are lying, except I’m not lying, because this relationship is bound by covenant dependent upon his never ending and perfect faithfulness, and sealed with the spirit of God. If it depended on me, it would’ve been doomed from the start. Funny how that is.
Then I started reading Don Miller’s book about going really far over a long time, (but, for whatever reason, in Todd Agnew’s voice, which is funny since I’m having coffee with his wife (Todd’s, not Don’s) tomorrow) and I thought that if I were a character in a movie, I wouldn’t know how to describe me. How would I play out? Or what would they have to change about me? In general, stage actors translate as loud and dramatic on film, cause the camera is so much closer than the audience.
But I’m not acting. This is just who I am. Who I am, who i was made to be, really is this way.
And I don’t know how to describe her, me, other than that if you met me I swear to God you’d love me. Unless you hated me. It usually turns out to be one of the two.
Unless you’re a man who finds me attractive and I pay too much attention to and who probably plays guitar in which case you’ll think you’ve fallen in love with me but give it a few weeks or months or, in a few cases, years, and you’ll realize that you didn’t mean all those things you said (or you did but you don’t) and you CAN live without me and in fact you’d prefer to.
But i’m funny. Most people agree on that part. Most middle-class, english speaking, 5-55 yr olds.
That’s really not most people, is it?