It would be nice to say that everything is all better now, but it wouldn’t be honest. There are good moments and there are bad hours. Such is life. These last days have been busy without much time for thinking, and I’m still not sure if that is good or bad. There has been much laughter with people, and many unshed tears of frustration without them; the laughter was real, and so was the frustration. I’ll never figure me out, though I do know small things. I know I like to play hard, and I know that I am horribly selfish. I know that I like people, and words, but especially sarcastic words and people. I usually dislike numbers. I know that I enjoy good food almost too much, and that I’ll never stop wishing to fly. I know that I am loved by God. Well that was off topic, wasn’t it?
What I really came to share was a poem I wrote recently because I thought I lacked the words to write a blog post. I’m beginning to doubt that I lack the words, but I still hold that I have nothing new to say. So I present you this poem in all it’s imperfection, not because you need to know more about where I am or say nice words about it, but because maybe it will touch you, and maybe the brokenness of art will stir your soul. That’s what I would like to hope anyways. Before that poem I’ll share some words that belong to Rich Mullins, a fool for Christ, which helped me make it through this past week.
“We don’t ever understand what we’re praying.”