The problem, of course, with sporadic writing on a page which is meant to track the regular rhythms of life is that such sporadic writings don’t well represent the regular rhythms. Rather, they represent those moments which for whatever reason I choose to write something. This seems to be when I feel like finding some excuse or establishing some point or making note of an extreme.
What it doesn’t do is find that fluidity of being which must be found in the day to day experiences. After my post last night I looked at the recent posts and realized each was a bump of frustration. That characterizes my written week, or month, but not my real week or month. For the most part I don’t write here when nothing seems to be happening or when things are fairly bland, emotionally and spiritually. And so that was July.
The bland is almost worse than anything because it lulls one into a vague discontent or even a vague content neither of which sparks movement or change. People can live decades for there.
This morning I realize I feel a vague disappointment, a disappointment at feeling I was part of something then realizing I wasn’t as much as I thought. It’s hard thinking one is on a team but finding out the team isn’t quite thinking the same way.
So I press on. Finding in my frustration and disappointment the spurring to get back towards that which fills the soul for its own sake.
And I note this not without hope. There are many different strands wandering around… and maybe it is those I am supposed to follow without depending on the vague content of the moment.
There is only to follow the light and flee from the darkness and confusion, when the darkness overcomes it’s likely a sign one didn’t quite get around to following that light, because such light often comes from peculiar directions.
We can only pray and ponder, and trust God is working.