Today's post will not be broadcasted as widely as with recent posts, as this is a personal, but not secretive, matter to get off my chest. This is a piece from my life that is very intimate, but I will make this available for reading on the blog for you.
Today's one of those days again. Everything seems to have fallen in place, but it doesn't seem that it's just that that has fallen. Before me lies a book with my name on it; in my hand, a banged-up but still functional pen. Blank pages still comprise a majority of the work before my eyes.
A familiar shadow--a familiar soreness--creeps up on me as I contemplate the next word, the next page, the next chapter. What more must I write? How much story is left for me?
The cast of our story. Who am I, first of all? What am I? Where am I? Why am I? I seem to have formulated a partial picture of what my purpose, my calling is. I have gone through much in the years leading up to today; laughter, tears, that whole shebang. But for what end? How will I know the end-all of this? Is there some result to be achieved now or in the future? What will be my impact? Am I even going to make an impact?
And what of the others? Those who have gone before me have played their parts and have affected my journeys and directed me to places where I had never imagined I would go. There are those who still affect me to this day, whether positive or negative, but how long until they disappear? Will some stay until the end with me? There are many today who I zealously want to keep, even when it looks like it is their time to leave. Who is yet to come? Tomorrow will decide that question.
Are the next few chapters simply regurgitated material from past work? Sometimes I feel like it's the same thing over and over again, as if each successive chapter was a crappy reboot of the previous. What is the point of all this? My spirit is dry and I yearn for refreshment. I want something bright, fresh, new; something to reinvigorate me. I want it, but I don't know where to go or what to do.
This dryness has placed me once more in a state of isolation. I can communicate with others, yet I still feel like a fish out of water; I don't feel the connection, that burning, passionate, zealous love I have for the other. It's like those prison phone counters you see in the movies; they're there, but you're not there, instead locked away from the energy of the embrace.
That's it. The Energy of the Embrace. The fuel tank in my heart has been almost emptied at this point. I've been so caught up in the bustle of my life so far in this world that I forgot to rest and revive myself. I've been emptying myself out into outlets that did not reciprocate enough for me to realize the potential of the life I have been given. I need more. How do I obtain this Energy? Who am I Embracing?
Then I recall a voice too often ignored throughout my book.
I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Of course. A simple, but profound answer to the various questions I've been asking. I've heard this so many times, yet I forget it so much. He is the one enough for me. He is the Energy I need to boost through the days.
This is My Body.
This is My Blood.
Strength for the journey. What was it that an angel said to Elijah one day? "Eat, or else the journey will be too much for you." I haven't been eating my meals much; that is, I eat, yet I don't let the nourishment get to my heart. I accept it physically, but am I letting my spirit get nourishment too?
The alarm clock goes off. Sunday morning. Typical morning routine, then get in the car.
Parked. I open the doors of the church and walk in.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Go time.
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