a blessed relief
"The earth is the LORD'S and all it contains, the world, and all those who dwell in it."
My stuff, your stuff. His stuff, her stuff. New stuff, old stuff. Everybody's stuff.
Oh yeah, and all the bodies, too.
(Before this resembles the text of a Dr. Suess book any more than it already does, I'll stop.)
God owns all of it. That's a pretty tall order as far as I can figure, and the enormity of it has brought me comfort today. Excuse me while I totter around looking lost while rubbing my eyes and wearing wrinkled pajamas, but in the space of one short week, my emotional boundaries have run the gamut. (That's an entirely different meaning from running the gauntlet, but in this case, most comparable.)
From a funeral service for a 6-year old little boy who was the victim of an accidental shooting---to the highest joys of re-connecting and fellowshipping with lifelong friends at a party held in our home, this week has yanked me from pillar to post. Well, not exactly to post--(sorry to throw too many word-puns in one entry). I have found it difficult to put the happenings of this week into words.
When English words didn't come easily, I tried other languages. And I was still stuck.
For the record, there were beautiful vases of flowers both at the funeral and at the party. I am quite certain that God attended both events. After those observations, I am at a loss to connect the dots.
Even now, I am tempted to download a few pics and declare my blog-housework done. But, my dear reader, that would be a disservice to you. You, who click on to these glowing pages with high hopes to find inspiration, humor, a bit of food-snobbery, and a running, goofy, yet sometimes insightful account of what makes me tick.
And so.
And so I plunge ahead, tapping and backspacing, creating and erasing, speaking and tweaking, with the sheer and tremulous faith that to write is to make something more concrete. To spill out the words, to formulate thoughts and spew them onto the screen, and to generate cohesive sentences means that I am here, you are there, there's a whole lotta broken stuff on this planet, and-- for a surety: He's got the whole world in His hands.
What a blessed relief.
My stuff, your stuff. His stuff, her stuff. New stuff, old stuff. Everybody's stuff.
Oh yeah, and all the bodies, too.
(Before this resembles the text of a Dr. Suess book any more than it already does, I'll stop.)
God owns all of it. That's a pretty tall order as far as I can figure, and the enormity of it has brought me comfort today. Excuse me while I totter around looking lost while rubbing my eyes and wearing wrinkled pajamas, but in the space of one short week, my emotional boundaries have run the gamut. (That's an entirely different meaning from running the gauntlet, but in this case, most comparable.)
From a funeral service for a 6-year old little boy who was the victim of an accidental shooting---to the highest joys of re-connecting and fellowshipping with lifelong friends at a party held in our home, this week has yanked me from pillar to post. Well, not exactly to post--(sorry to throw too many word-puns in one entry). I have found it difficult to put the happenings of this week into words.
When English words didn't come easily, I tried other languages. And I was still stuck.
For the record, there were beautiful vases of flowers both at the funeral and at the party. I am quite certain that God attended both events. After those observations, I am at a loss to connect the dots.
Even now, I am tempted to download a few pics and declare my blog-housework done. But, my dear reader, that would be a disservice to you. You, who click on to these glowing pages with high hopes to find inspiration, humor, a bit of food-snobbery, and a running, goofy, yet sometimes insightful account of what makes me tick.
And so.
And so I plunge ahead, tapping and backspacing, creating and erasing, speaking and tweaking, with the sheer and tremulous faith that to write is to make something more concrete. To spill out the words, to formulate thoughts and spew them onto the screen, and to generate cohesive sentences means that I am here, you are there, there's a whole lotta broken stuff on this planet, and-- for a surety: He's got the whole world in His hands.
What a blessed relief.
posted by thisrequiresthought at 3:25 PM
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