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I feel like a sellout. Jesus sold everything out to save me and yet I sell out on Him. I am such a creep, man. A complete and utter creep. I try and try to reason things out, to make sure everything is in place and in order and that all the words will fall precisely from my little pink tongue without a hitch.
Instead, they slither out of my mouth like worms and I'm reduced to a pile of compost before God. What is wrong with me? Why can't I say the things I need to say? Why do I trip over my own words?
Writing is a blessing and a curse. Leaving aside all grammatical errors I might make and the fact that I don't cultivate this skill nearly enough, my ability to write is such a blessing to me. It's not about it being a blessing to anyone else, or impressing anyone else.. It's just a weightless floaty feeling to be able to write out my thoughts. but because of this, I think I've become dependant on writing out my thoughts. I can get an easy A on most papers I write, regardless of the time spent on them. When I write seriously (as opposed to when I write for pleasure), I pay attention to all the dumb little grammatical and syntaxial errors I usually make in blogs like there where I am primarily concerned with saying everything I'm thinking before it disintegrates from my brain. But when I speak in front of people... well. All too often, when I have something planned to say, it all goes to pot the second my mouth opens.
Goes to pot, goes to pot. I think I completely bombed my Biblical Themes presentation. It was an oral presentation thing, I put minimal effort into it (it was a group project and the rest of my group insisted on scheduling planning meetings for it on the only day of the week that I had to work), and I stayed up late the night before talking to boys on the phone. Well, actually, only one boy. But I stayed up too late nonetheless. Besides that, I nevertheless spent a lot of time planning out what I was going to say so that I could really preach some truth. Well, I didn't preach truth. I didn't preach heresy either. I just didn't preach anything. I took the middle road and I'm sick because of it. I hate the middle road. I hate being fallen like everyone else. I wish I could stand out in the sidelines and sneer at the people tripping up in front of the world while I coast gracefully into perfection. Instead, I'm the same, the same, a one-out-of-many part of the multitude. I suppose fallenness makes me empathetic of those who are just as fallen as I (that is, the whole world) and it allows me no illusions about who I truly am.
I realize I talk at least the small majority of the time about how I'm a dirtball/whore/stump. The truth is, it really makes me happy to say that. It reminds me that in all my blessings and bounty I haven't forgotten my roots. Maybe you even think I'm being self-effacing to get attention. That's okay. Maybe I am, sometimes, even if I don't think about it. It only proves my point, though. Everything I do, everything you do - there's always the underlying motive of glorying in self. But out of that glory sprouts brokenness, and out of the terracotta potsherds of brokennes, the Father and His Christ have built a mansion for us all. In the mansion, He will rule, and within that mansion there are enormous fluffy beds to sleep in that are never chilly at night. Every day, we will stay up late at night in our rockingchairs around the fireplaces, eating smores and singing praises with the angels, and we'll pass the hot chocolate around to pantomime the need to shrug off the winter chill - but, of course, there won't be any chill. And even though we've stayed up every night until 2AM, we'll always get up early the next day because there was never any darkness to begin with, and it's certainly not possible to stay in bed when a day of pure praise of God lies ahead of you.
And all of that begins with God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, and a bunch of earthen vessels.