Here

It’s a weird snapshot of life I somehow think is worth remembering. I think.

It’s almost 2 a.m. and I’m not really sleepy. Everyone feels a little lost, a little disconnected, a little gone.

Gone. We’re almost there. The dreaded summer is baring it’s ugly face though the return to family is on the other side, for some people. We all know things are going to change. We all know that we have no control of it and that we all will still love each other whatever happens. But what are we to do?

It’s getting warmer outside but the night’s are still nippy. I the boys are amazingly less talkative without Peter to fill the silence. I have to say I can respect the men on this green earth who can appreciate silence.

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, it should be on my other paper journal. I doubt I’ll let this little bugger out…

Everyone says they feel weird, disconnected from God. Maybe I’ve brought it on myself, I think. Because of all the logical haywire running through my head lately. Perhaps I brought it upon myself. All the same I don’t feel the “sting” of this disconnect. For me the “crazy” visions and wild experiences stopped a little while ago. That really doesn’t change anything. I mean it was cool, but God's still the same...

It’s such an odd place to be. I’m dreaming of the ordinary in the school of the extraordinary. I’m supposed to be a world changer but the proof of my changed world is that I can live to simply live. I am dreaming of life, of houses, and jobs, and rainy days, and friends. I’m dreaming of the menial, and the hobbies, and whatever else I want to fill my life with.

The goal? The goal has and always will be the service of God. I will die for Him and have died to myself for so long. But as Christ rose, somehow, so must I. By some miracle the lost of my life has given birth to new life. I’m caught off guard and yet I can see I’m not the only one in the shocked faces of the disciples when they saw Him on the 3^rd day.

I am overwhelmed at His goodness.

God was good long before I ever called Him so. I believed of, and called out, His goodness long, long before I knew it. See, death isn’t so hard to do for something ‘good’. It’s a little irrational but totally acceptable to die for a ‘good’—anything.

But Oh NOW,

Now look at His goodness.

I really have next to nothing. No theological proof, nothing too fascinating about my own story, but oh He is good. I could tell you how He brought me here and on many pages I could convey a story you would only interpret. Perhaps the best snapshot into His goodness is tonight itself.

The music playing on the computer now is “City and Colour” –depressing, but I’m not. It’s cold and dark and lonely, like the singer’s heart is some sort of bitter-cold rain, or a widow’s heart put to music. The shadows on the walls are long and looming from the lamp across the room. The warm yellow light is a bit of a joke since we keep the “heat” at around 60. It’s so quite I can finally hear the wall clock ticking along with the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard. The books piled around me are all needing my attention in some way or another but I want to read another set of stories unrelated…

It’s late night’s like this I realize, with every fiber, just how utterly alone we are. No matter the company, no matter the friends, I eventually walk home. We all dart through the empty streets of Buckeye and Clay one way or another and disappear from each other’s consciousness leaving our only witness our own minds and, God.

God. It’s far better to feel the sting of “lonely” with Him then to feel Him grow lonely as you fill your life with noise. It is an odd thing to say I feel His goodness. That I truly feel Him present when I feel my most disconnected. That I’m never too far away to feel that He is still good. That He is still unangered.

A friend wrote a story where the main character met with Jesus in Heaven. It is odd that it would strike me so but I can’t quite see Jesus as a man. I mean perhaps He were to, literally, knock on my door tomorrow and I knew without a doubt that that man was Jesus? Now the Spiritual Jesus, I have no problem hugging, telling Him all, hiding nothing. But the man? The guy named Jesus sounds frightful, awkwardly quiet, knowing everything, I imagine His eyes show all. And YET—I love Him. That I would give my life in a moment for Him—for whatever cause He deems. I would die for Him and even more so, I would, and do, look forward to that day when He truly is before me.

I can’t see us singing the same songs to Jesus if He were on the invisible top balcony we raise our hands too. I don’t know if we would pray such demanding prayers to our Friend, the guy we say liked us enough to die for us.

I am utterly alone, by geography at this time. It’s now almost 2:30 a.m. and no one is awake. Still He is here. Him. That guy who if He were in the flesh I’d be a little creeped out by. But if I can talk to Him like that man, the Man who died for me, look how different I can feel. I feel a closeness that doesn’t make sense. A closeness to the Man I will see in the flesh someday but who is with me in today too. The one who has an adventure of a life to live with me and all the time in the world.

Dreaming with Jesus is a whole different topic once you think He’s listening. That your friend isn’t half the douche we pray to, and that he’s so close to whisper is to yell in His ear. These are the days of my life that hurt as they slip through my fingers.

I should be more “productive” yet I can’t put a value on the days like this where life simply went by without a hitch. I simply did my life. Breakfast, school, walking, friends, talking, and then it was over. If only to relive this day a few times over. I really can’t be sick of it. It’s all changing so soon yet I’m totally content right here and now. I’m at peace with my soul though I can feel that utter disconnect. It’s just so different in the light I’m trying so HARD to describe. I feel he’s goodness, I feel Him near.

I am in love