Ramblings from 2006.

Sometimes it feels like just God and me against this great big world of misunderstanding. No one else can enter in to what we have. Everyone is capable of having that sacred place with God; however, no one can enter into mine. I used to think that I liked it this way, closed off, strong, alone, cold, dark, and unwilling to need anyone or anything. C.S. Lewis says that in order to truly experience love, one must be vulnerable. I would let others in if it was possible, but it is impossible. We are all stuck on the outside of each other. It is hard. It is hard to be in this place, wrapped inside this mind, and be completely alone with God. God is more than enough for eternity, but how do I explain myself to those around me now. I am unsupported and judged in my actions. If I attempt to be strong enough to be an unfeeling existence; I suppose it would continue to feel like my beginning felt. I could go on and anxiously pretend that I am capable of overcoming all weakness to those who see me. The problem is just that; they see me. I cannot write a new beginning to my story. The words are already etched into the earth’s pages. This is a place where I am free to experience who I am, yet, it is not without price or severity. I want to know if I’m doing things all wrong. I want to know if God would be okay with me filling in the missing colors to this painting I am longing to continue. This is the only place which I know. I have been here my whole life. It isn’t some revolutionary place that laymen are incapable of imagining. It’s just my life, my worldview, my feelings, my emotions, my pain, my suffering, my insight, my understanding, my depth, my tears, my sleepless nights, my thoughts, my reasoning: me. Everyone who looks at this place through the glass has something new or old to say: everyone. Some have their own opinion as to what I should do within my glass box. Others don’t understand why I choose to do the things I do. Some can’t fathom what I mean when I try to explain, with all my heart and with very few words, that my life growing up was inexplicable. Some want to tell me where to go or what to do. Only a few listen, very few. Even fewer accept me and validate the fact that maybe; just maybe, it might actually be true that I am absolutely and incredibly incapable of filling in the missing colors with the palate that I have right now. Some people are powerful; I am not.