Closer

I know what Paul meant when he said that he does that which he does not want to do, that he can’t seem to do the thing he wants.

I love Jesus. This sounds really simple and quite juvenile, but it’s true. I love Jesus. However, the past ten years or so have provided plenty of fertile ground for callous to grow. This leaves me feeling like I don’t love Jesus the way I know I should. I don’t know what to do about it, though. That is, I don’t know how to do the thing I know I should do. I feel really dry. I feel really tired. It seems I’ve been passively fighting for a lot of years, and passivism is the stuff that really tears you down. Because instead of letting anyone know about this struggle, you take out all your frustrations on yourself. This can begin to make you miserable.

I forget about Jesus sometimes. This is horrible when I say it. When I admit that I forget about the guy that died on two splintery pieces of wood to rescue my ugly soul from eternal death, I sound like one of the worst people I know. I also sound like a very honest person. I’m going to guess that more people feel this way than any of us knows about. But the point is: I forget. I forget more than I should. And I have no idea how I do this. How do I forget Jesus?

Creatures of comfort, that’s what we are. I enjoy being comfortable, but I am deathly afraid of mediocrity. And I get nervous when I feel like that’s where I’m heading. Well, I’m nervous. I’m afraid that forgetting Jesus has more to do with becoming comfortable than it does with losing my mind.

I do a lot of reminiscing about times when I could honestly feel Jesus holding my hand. He was so real to me. He was all I really cared about. Something happened, though. I still know He’s real, but I adopt a lot more cares these days. These crowd Him out. I wish I could feel it again. I wish I wanted it badly enough to devote time to it when I’m not falling asleep - - like right now.

A sporadic Bible reader. Half-hearted prayer wimp. Limit-inflicting believer. I’m all of these things. I’m no good at all, and, still, Jesus loves me. I could never know a fraction of the sheer bliss He gleans from my existence - - even if I remembered Him ALL the time. I can never know it, but I would like to get back to a place where I can come close, a place closer than this.

Father, Creator, Friend…reach in and grab the deepest parts of me. Search them out, and bring them to a place of healing. Allow me the freedom to mess up, and bless me with the grace You promise when I do. Let the dead things in me burn. Let the Living Seeds grow and extend and consume. And let their roots vein far beyond the reach of any fleshly seduction. Touch my soul, allowing me to feel Your hand again…reminding me daily of your existence and participation in my life, even unto the most mundane task.

Chapstick

I love the cold. Every year it rolls around, I realize I’ve forgotten how wonderful it is, and I love it all over again. A lot of people hate this time of year. They would rather be on a beach feeling sweat drip down their face than in a winter wonderland watching their breath puff from their lips. Not me. I feel more alive this time of year than any other. The cold acts as a stinging reminder that my body is constantly working. When I walk out my door, I feel the cold rush onto my skin, working its way down to my bones. My fingers tingle. My knees shake. My lungs feel a slight hesitation. And, in all of this, a smile creeps onto my face because I FEEL alive. A lot of the time, I know I’m alive, but I don’t feel it. Life becomes rather tedious, and I take sensations, feelings, even pain, for granted. But the cold…the cold reminds me. It’s so sudden. Even when you prepare for cold, it always surprises you with how absolutely freezing you become in two seconds after leaving the warmth of your house. And I like that. I like feeling my nose grow red. I like the 80 coats of Chapstick I feel it necessary to apply. I like feeling absolutely miserable walking to the car in the morning, wishing I was still in my warm bed. Even now, I like the thawing feeling in my toes as I lay in bed.

There’s just something. I can’t really explain it well enough for you to know. All I know is I can really breathe - - finally breathe - - in the cold. It wakes me up. It invites me to feel again. It forces me to remember that renewal is coming, that a brand new start is closer than I think.