I'll be honest about this part of life. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe for some people it does. But for me, each application feels like a rejection and each step forward seems to be followed by three stumbles back. I feel less in control of the plan, and I don't like that. Actually, I hate it. Those hazy shadows in the fog taunt me with their mystery. My concentrated stares to determine the identity of those shadows only ends in confusion and frustration. No answers. No answers yet. At least not while I'm standing far away, apprehending the unknown from a distance.
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Here's the deal. People know fake when they see it. I know I do. I particularly know fake when I see it in me. I used to think that to be was to do and to feel, but that's not quite so. Doing and feeling are good and necessary things. They make up our humanness and aspects of who we are, but they are not our identity. So now I'm not praying for feelings or fame, I'm praying simply to be.
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They tell me that the body remembers, and I think mine has been having too much fun with deja vu. It's remembering where I was one year ago--after Rush, leadership, and responsibilities. It's remembering the cold weather, the mid-November stress, the overcast days, the wind slicing through the buttons of my flannel. Last year, cold weather felt scary and lonely and helpless. And my body is remembering.
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Letting go of shame is scary. Because even though He tells me that He can handle it, sometimes I don't know if I can bear to acknowledge that it exists.
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One day, brilliant words will be falling out of your head, and then the next day you're shaking your fist at a blank canvas. Where did the inspiration go? Why are words suddenly hard?
It's tempting to think that on the blank canvas days, we just have nothing--that the well of our brain is dry. But I think another alternative reason for blank canvas days are because the well of our brains are overloaded.
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