14 November 2010

150 (130-132)

130.  "From the depths I call out to You."  From the earliest age that I can remember, I have had this dialogue with God.  I do question God's reality from time to time--and to be clear, I mean reality, not existence.  There I definitions of God that at times I find wanting; definitions that sink like rocks into a dark pond; definitions that madden, offend, cause more trouble than they're worth.  But never do I question the actual existence of God.

Am I lucky?  Troubled?  Deluded?  Confident?  Faithful?  Certain?  Probably some of each, depending upon the week, the day, the hour, the moment.  But always there is the dialogue.   The reality of my speaking and Someone hearing.  And knowing.

"If You should make note of all one's sins, God, who could stand before you?"  I believe that.  I think our incessant propensity to get it wrong, even as we attempt with the best of our abilities to get it right, is one of the most humbling and enduring manifestations of our existence.  And I do fundamentally believe that as we pick ourselves up off the mat, a hand is there to lift us up.

"My soul waits for the Eternal more than watchmen for the morning, watchmen for the morning."  Rising light is the natural but artificial edifice of protection.  Words of prayer heard, love, is the plenty of redemption.

131.  "Heart, eyes, self:  not too haughty.  My soul is stilled and quieted, like a weaned child from its mother.  Hope in forever."  In a manner of speaking.  Walk in those ways.

132.  "I will not give sleep to mine eyes, nor slumber to mine eyelids."  When we stay up knowing we shouldn't.  When we do not rest knowing we should.  What are we doing with those hours?  How do we use them?

"I will not give sleep to mine eyes, nor slumber to mine eyelids until I find out a place for the Eternal, a dwelling place for the Mighty One of Jacob."  Literally wrestling ourselves into bed, into home, into peace.  And from that place a ladder ascends to heaven.

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