I feel conflicted about my blog.
After about three months of talking so persistently and so outrageously about Jesus, I have about five readers left.
I wish I could say that I was so deeply spiritual and above it all that this doesn't touch me, but I can't lie. I feel sad about this.
I wonder, should I have talked about Him less? Should I have hidden the way in which I know Him?
If I go on talking about Jesus in the way I do, will I end up merely talking to myself, in a big empty space?
This whole walking by faith thing can be very unsatisfactory at times. How's that for an understatement?
I woke up this morning to a quiet house. I drank it in. I wandered around in a sort of happy bliss, taking in the stillness, the silence, the calm blue light of dawn.
The windows drew me on every side, with their vistas of a light filled landscape, pale blues and ambers and silver tipped grasses lit up like torches by the rising sun.
I woke up hungry for Jesus. My hunger for Him never ebbs.
Almost, I have resigned myself to this fact. Sometimes still I wonder why this is- why I am never satisfied, why I always want more, and deeper and more present.
Then I realize that the answer doesn't matter, anyway. What matters is that it is true.
So I cried out to Jesus and begged Him and poured out my heart to Him and He opened my heart to His presence, and I drank it in like the light.
Then I flipped over my little calendar and read this:
"O Lord, You have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord. You both precede and follow me. You place Your hand of blessing on my head."
-Psalm 139:1, 4-5
