When I lose my writing, it devastates me. This latest loss (see my last few blog posts) hit me so hard that right now I feel like giving up on writing. I can’t even elaborate in this post.
O, to have a friend with whom sweet fellowship is shared,
Whose love is real and unretractable
Who sees my flaws and doesn’t try to fix them
Who can tell me he hates me but we know it’s a lie
Who laughs with – not at – me
Who lets me spoil him and doesn’t expect or demand
So rare a love.
The kind that lasts forever.
Hang on to those friends with love.
My favorite blog posts are the same as my favorite books: the ones that shows the author’s humanity.
I like to read what a person feels;
what they have experienced and how that has affected them;
things, events, and people that move them to their core and why;
their failures as well as their triumphs;
stories about their pet dogs, their pet cats, their pet peeves;
stories about their hopes and dreams, as well as their regrets;
carefully chosen words that elicit a smile or a tear – or, best of all, a laugh;
properly spelled words, and all written with attention to sentence structure and grammar;
and thoughts on everything they care about enough to analyze, revitalize, or otherwise relive in writing.
Their humanity reinforces my own humanity. It can encourage me when I need it. It can then, in turn, cause me to encourage someone else.
Don’t confuse disagreement with an absence of love.
Too often, if a person opposes something, the knee-jerk assumption on the part of an immature person is “you’re judging”, or “you’re hating”, or “you’re a bigot”. Those are some pretty judgy, hatey, bigoty things to call someone, don’t ya think?
I have 74 drafts sitting here in WordPress.
Seventy-four posts drafted and waiting to find out when – or even if – they will be published.
That seems like so many, but I don’t know how many other bloggers might have. I have nothing to which I can compare.
Sometimes I grab one of those drafts, polish it off, and publish it, even though it may have been started a year or more ago.
If you are willing to share your secret number of current drafts, I am willing to hear about it right here in the comments. Eh? Whadda ya say?
A friend of mine often calls himself useless. It hurts me to hear him be so hateful about himself. How it must hurt God, who loves him so much that He sent His only son to pay the price to clear him of being born into a death sentence to a worse location than any miserable situation on this earth.
How do I know God loves him? Because the Bible tells me so. It’s more than just a children’s song that says “Jesus loves me, this I know – for the Bible tells me so.” It’s truth and it runs deep and wide throughout the Bible.
And how do I know the Bible is true?
One thing that convinces me is prophecy’s accuracy. I don’t want my blog posts to be too long, so here are a couple of jumping-off points if you would like to dig into this topic more:
But back to my friend. He thinks I live in some kind of paradise on earth, compared to the part of the world in which he resides. He is so ashamed of where he lives, he posts on social media with words and pictures to suggest to his readers he lives elsewhere.
I told him today that we have our struggles here, just like anywhere else on this fallen earth.
It’s hard to be content in whatever situation we find ourselves.
Those words were penned by a man named Paul who was in prison when he wrote them. If he could find contentment because of the knowledge of God’s love, then so can I, though many a time I still complain. I need to work on that.
God can use us anywhere, in ways we might not even realize.
Yesterday, I don’t know but maybe God used me to comfort someone. I was in Save On Foods, a big grocery chain in BC, in Prince George. After I paid for my items, the cashier said, “Happy Easter.”
I smiled at her and said, “Happy Resurrection Day!”
The look on her face spoke to me of appreciation. Maybe she was glad to hear someone else out there who shares her faith? Maybe she didn’t have this faith yet and is now still thinking about the meaning of someone saying “happy Resurrection Day!” Maybe someone else overheard my words and set a train of thoughts in action for them.
Little things like this matter.
God didn’t just make one person to do everything. He made this whole pile of humans. He made you.
I believe there is a use for you, reader. I hope you don’t think you are useless. We don’t know how useful we might be to those we encounter. Maybe the listening ear that you provide to one soul is the only good thing that has happened for that person that day, to keep them hanging on until they help someone else, or maybe till they turn to Jesus . Maybe the words you write will resonate in a way that you could not foresee and lead someone to look up something else that comes to mind. Who knows.
But we have a purpose. God loves us enough to have sent His son for us. That tells me we are important to Him.
“Take you a glass of water
Make it against the law.
See how good the water tastes
When you can’t have any at all”
-Creedence Clearwater Revival, “Bootleg”
. . . . .
How universal is it to desire that which you do not possess?
Is it in every human heart to admire beauty, overtly or covertly, regardless of how much one already has?
Is it an empty space of longing that was allowed with a purpose, ready to be fulfilled in a dimension where jealousy, pain, and offense of all kinds are nonexistent, and peace, joy, and love are rampant?
Is desire a prerequisite to fulfillment that will only come when we are in perfected bodies, not decaying, not breaking, able to handle the weight of holding everything we could want, sinless, selfless, and furthermore having the capacity to enjoy it to the fullest?
Meanwhile, we live in a state of not fully living, and we continue to die.
Too much gravity to fly, yet not enough gravity to be held down.
Swimming in the lusts of our flesh.
Sometimes caving in and regretting, sometimes walking away and regretting, and sometimes feeling temporarily satisfied.
We admire, desire, and crave.
Those eyes, that hair, those arms, that mind, that car, that truck, those shoes, the sun, the heat, houses, land, gadgets, tools, travel, companionship, intimacy…
We steal, we kill, we destroy.
It’s not just me.
I don’t want it to be!
And we continue to thirst.
Then, sometimes, when we get what we want, we find that it wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.
Temporary ecstasy amidst temporary pain, not willing to endure the strain.
Almost living, always slowly dying.
Always – intentionally, really – incomplete…
I’ve been doing this thing all my life and never knew it had health benefits.
A counselor told me about “earthing”, also known as “grounding”, which is getting your bare feet out on natural ground – the beach, grass, soil, etc – to allow good things to happen in your body.
My initial response was a dubious sideways glance accompanied by a long version of the word “hmm” that trailed off into silence.
A quick browsing of the internet reveals much information on the topic of earthing. I shy away from any articles that mention “chakras” or anything to do with spiritual overtones of an un- or anti-Christian nature, but some anecdotal and medical reports on the topic hold my interest.
I don’t know how scientific it is, but I want to find out. And if you have any thoughts on it, please do comment below.
I’ve tried it and likely will again, as it’s no different than what I do on any given sunny day, as long as the ground is warm.
However, at this time of year, here in BC’s northern climate, I don’t know if the benefits are worth the discomfort of walking on prickly dead grass that’s still cold from recently melted snow, nor on varying depths and textures of mud and rock, none of which are warm. One plus is that the mosquitos aren’t out yet.
As an experiment, I walked barefoot out to the road to retrieve my garbage can today. Sun shone on most of the ground, but it’s no more than 5 degrees Celsius today. My feet were cold and not exactly dancing.
That was nearly an hour ago and I’m still lying on my bed with my feet under two cotton-cased wool blankets and a fleece blanket to top it all off.
My feet are still cold.
I’ll have to hunt down my sheepskin Uggs boots next.
I hope I did some good for myself. Maybe it’s a case of medicine not having to taste good in order to be beneficial.
One more thought is that my dogs walk around barefoot all the time. They seem very happy. Maybe their “earthing” has something to do with that joy.
Courtney Patton’s arrangement of “Take Your Shoes Off Moses” comes to mind as I think of all this. Here’s the video:
Do you ever imagine, while driving, that you might die suddenly in a motor vehicle accident, and the loud music to which you were listening is still blaring from the speakers when too-late rescuers find you? Then they look at your phone and review recent track history to see what song was playing when you crashed. That song gets played at your memorial and your loved ones cry.
I envision it occasionally. I did today while driving from my house to the store.
Here I sit in my car, finishing the coffee I brought from home, letting my phone charge a bit before dashing in for groceries, and writing a blog entry.
“More Than A Feeling” by Boston plays on my car’s stereo. I dug that one out to download recently as my teenaged son is learning to play guitar and I thought he might like its intro. He’s always throwing songs my way that move him, and they re-move me as they are mostly songs that originally moved me, too, at his age, and continue in their movement now.
But back to the thought of being removed from this body while music plays. If it had happened on my drive to town today, it would have occurred during one of these tunes:
1. Don’t Come Around Here No More by Tom Petty
2. Put Another Log On The Fire by Tompall Glaser
3. Call Me The Breeze by Lynyrd Skynyrd
4. Travelin’ Shoes by Ruthie Foster
Then I parked and Starman by David Bowie came on. I could have been accidentally or purposely shot during that and have died as happily as during any of the previous songs.
Lady Gaga and some guy just sang “The Shallows” together, and now John Mayer is singing about how someone’s Body’s A Wonderland while his hands do the great things they do to a guitar.
Off I go to brave the grocery store. If I don’t make it out, pick some fine music to play in memory of me and enjoy the rest of your day.
But sometimes talking to someone is all it takes to not feel that way anymore. It doesn’t have to be a conversation about feeling lonely or needy. The connection itself, the interchange of words and thoughts, even listening to someone else talk about things that have nothing to do with your own problems, can be healing.
The opposite effect can result from reaching out and not connecting, though.
So, more often than not, I don’t even try. The risk isn’t worth it to me.