Speechless

It seems that my blog posts of late have been so brilliantly authoritative, intellectual, and dense that none of my aspiring readers is able to comment beyond small exclamations of praise and adoration.

While fully appreciating the great compliment of awed silence, I find myself lonely at the top. Genius is indeed a hard lot when one must endure life without a companion capable of responding to such insightful and inspiring thoughts.

Though I suppose if my premise is true, this post is again a mere voice spoken into the great void without hope of even an echo.

Can I truly find comfort in simply recording my lofty thoughts? No, my sense of wholeness comes up lacking when not buffered by friends.

The question I now face is what kind of fall to expect. For some reason that proverb holds true even when pride takes the form of a jest. I suppose it's still pride at the core, badly disguised.

Good gifts

Matthew 7:7-11

7 "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. 9 Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? 10 Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? 11 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!"

This is one of those scripture passages I've heard my whole life and have intellectually acknowledged. Yet when I find myself facing a "good gift," I slip into a sort of denial. It doesn't feel real. This is something I think is good; this is what God gives to others, not to me. It can't really be meant for me; I must sabotage!

So now I have to give myself permission to accept good things from God. Funny, isn't it, that I would ask for bread, and when He gives it to me, say, "No, God. You were supposed to give me that rock. Take the bread away, and give me what I need."

Sounds like another dern double-bind.

It's amazing what arrogance I hide behind "self-denial."

I'm afraid to talk

I'd rather not iron, but that pile of wrinkly clothes is completely useless as far as work-wear is concerned. Though the other day, I did put on a shirt that was somewhat wrinkly, sprayed some Downy wrinkle releaser on it, smoothed it as best I could, and headed to work. I didn't get fired, so I suppose it was a success.

Here's my new hotspot.

On Perspective

As Trey and I discussed our testimonies last night, I realized again how persistently I see the world through my own eyes. I've always started my testimony on a somewhat apologetic note because I don't have any sort of dramatic or exciting or name-the-day-and-hour conversion experience. I can always talk about ways that I've grown or things that God has taught me over the years, but I can't say that I remember a time of not knowing Jesus, even if I have a new understanding of grace or realize the gospel in new ways that seem fundamental to basic salvation. (I know I shouldn't apologize for that, but I always feel a bit sappy anyway.)

Anyway, Trey pointed out that the testimony is not that I always knew Jesus, but that covenantally, God faithfully knew me all those years. Well, okay, then let me feel stupid again for a minute: A Christian's testimony is about God, not about the Christian. What's that catechism question? Isn't this stuff I'm supposed to know? And I do know it, in a way; I just don't always realize it.

So last night's conversation is another instance of my salvation becoming more real to me. But that doesn't mean it wasn't as real before I had new understanding, because (hallelujah!) my salvation isn't even dependent on my own perception.

For all that I know, I don't seem to know much. But isn't it splendiferous to learn!

Spring!

The colors outside my apt this morning made me melt a little inside. The refreshing rain that fell all night washed off the lovely yellow-ish tree pollen that's been coating everything the past few days. The sky was still that rich, dark grey that brings out the many-hued greens of new foliage. Spotted amongst the bright greens of fresh leaves and dark browns and greys of branches were a bright blooming red bud and a crisp flowering Bradford Pear (thankfully too far away for me to smell). The sight of it all was quite therapeutic.

Then I had to go to work.