Maybe There Is Something Bigger Than This Big Guy

What happens to the "know-it-all" boy when he finds out that he is wrong? Is there use for a "know-it-all" that doesn't know anything? Is there use for a critic that has no better plan? I am learning that my cup is much more broken than I first thought... I know less than I hoped for. So, maybe I should speak less than I think I need to. When did I stop listening to those around me? When did every conversation NEED to be filled with my thoughts and views? How shallow is the man that is afraid to move away from bad situations because he might receive less attention or sympathy. What happens to the self-centered boy that wakes up in the middle of the night to find out there are other people hurting in this world?... All of the sudden insecurities are confirmed and a new brokenness is achieved. Maybe this time the boy will find a way break away from the chains that he holds on to so tightly!

Out Of Control, But Right On Schedule

The longer I breath, the more I am understanding that I have no control over the days that I am allowed to live. I can make every decision that comes my way, and I can choose right or left... But control is not in my hands. I can only live the days that the Lord chooses to let me live, and I must be honest, sometimes, that is hard to swallow. Not because I believe that I could do a better job than Him... It's hard because the world my eyes are watching me live in.

It is hard because I am watching Multiple Sclerosis eat away at my mothers body. My mother taught me everything I know about being strong, and now she has trouble finding the strength in her legs to get out of bed in the morning. The women that taught me the value of a hard days work now has a hard time getting through a work day without her wheelchair reminding her that she can't do the things that she once took for granted (like being able to reach a book on a shelf). She can't hold her grandkids without some form of help. The stress of life keeps her from remembering everything that the day has held. It's hard for me to deal with the lack of control I have over this life because I hate the pain that my mother lives in. I hate hearing her voice crack as she holds back the pain. I hate the fact that my mother is in her early fifties, but she is forced to live as if she is seventy. I don't know how much tread my mom has left on her tires... And I hate the fact that there is nothing I can do to make her better.

My lack of control in this life brings me to the feet of the one that created the air I draw into my lungs. I fall to my knees because I have no lofty place of power to sit. As much as I struggle with the futility of my actions to control my surroundings... I have to place my bet on the author of this story. I have no doubt that He knows what he is doing because the sun came up again today. He loves with a force that you feel on a cool breeze or when the small stuff works out right. I have no clue why my mother is suffering while thieves have the strength to steal. But, I know why Jesus died on a tree. I know that if my Savior felt pain, then I will too. I also know that if death had no power over him, then death has no control over me.

The longer I sit under this city sky, the more I understand why the Lord made Crockett, Texas. The more time I take to stop and listen for the Lord... The more I understand that his knowledge has depths I will never reach in this body. The more I watch my potted plants grow, the more I understand that the Earth existed long before I cried my first tears. I trust that the Lord has a plan that is good for me. And, I trust that nothing that happens can take him by surprise. The Bible tells me that He knew me long before I was in my mothers womb... I am starting to understand how personal and intimate that is. I wish my mother did not understand the pain that she lives with, but I am thankful that she has a personal relationship with the only person that has the power to do anything about that pain.

Half Drunk, but Hurt Straight To the Bone

Forgive me all those who look to me for advice and strength for living your life… I am a flawed man. This isn’t going to come out right… and this won’t sound “Christian”…

I am sitting on my patio tonight trying to drink away this hurt that I thought was in the past. Ben Harper is pleading over the stereo not to be hurt again. My heart seems to be screaming the same thing right now. It’s amazing how a hard day at work can unearth hurt that you buried so many times before. The grave always seems shallow when you are exhausted. I drove away from work today knowing I would feel this way. I knew I would be the only one in this apartment when I got here. I knew I would battle with these thoughts and emotions… and I knew I would fall at the feet of this pain again. I have never been good at being alone, but I am trying so hard. I try to keep the smile on my face, but it seems as fake as the words of wisdom I try to pass on to those who seek it from me.

Sorry my thought are so random (the empty bottles are starting to pile up)…
I remember being dressed in a black tux with a white tie. I was scared I was going to screw up the ceremony. I knew for sure I was going to say the wrong words or set her dress on fire with a unity candle. I did neither. I said the right things, and I even made it through our first dance without falling all over her. That day runs through my head a lot, so does the day that she left me for the “what might be” of Arizona. Just the name of that state sometime hurts my heart. Memories haunt me, and words still cut me to the point of tears.

There is no sunshine in this post, just the truth: Sometimes it still hurts to be alone. When I am just tired enough, I get sad that I don’t have someone to hold. When a certain song comes on the radio, Sometimes I am taken back to a place from years ago. I am not saying that I long for the days of the past… But she always had a smile to get lost in…

Tomorrow I will wake up, go to work, and try to do better than I did today. This isn’t a permanent emotion of mine, just tonight as I sit here under a breezy night.

I love how I still write these posts as if anyone reads a word I have to say. 

I Am Not Job!

Job 1:8 "And the Lord said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that fearth God, and shuns evil?"

Anyone who has ever felt the fire of trial and the desert of waiting for an answer from the Heavens tends to gravitate toward the books of Psamls and Job. We try to identify our situations with those of David and Job. But, I must confess...as much as I try to convince myself that I am "Job-like", I am not Job. I am no where close. Any pain that I might feel is nothing compaired to the pain of literally loosing everything I own, as Job did. I feed my selfish nature with the thoughts that my situation holds a flame to that which Job went through.

More than this, the Lord tells us in this passage that we are not Job. Read that verse again, and look at the words that the Lord uses to describe Job. Perfect (or blameless) and upright. There is only one other man that is described with these words... Jesus. I am no where close to being the man that Job was. My nature lends itself to the bad situations I can find myself in, but Job's did not. He gave sacrifices on his sons behalf, just in case they had sinned... I barely stay awake long enough at night to tell the Lord "sorry" for my selfishness.

In the Lord's eyes, our pain is real... but temporal. No matter what our names are, he longs for our trust. It is true that he allows pain and tragedy to enter our lives in hopes that it will bring us closer to him. And that sounds cruel for those who haven't experienced His love; but for those of us who have tasted hints of this love... we see the beauty in the hurt. At the end of Job's trial he is humbled by the whirlwind of God's speach, then he is restored and blessed two fold. This is not a promise for the rest of us. However, it does give me hope. I know that the Lord is preparing a place where pain has no foot hold. I like the sound of that... the aching will stop one day. 

Being There

I have an amazing mother. After my parents divorced, my mother raised three boys on her own. These weren’t regular kids. I used to break every glass bottle I came across, Nathan taught me everything I knew about acting like a Tasmanian devil, and Stan grew very angry trying to keep up with his younger brothers. My mom used to work three jobs in a day, bake cakes for extra cash, and still somehow had some time for us kids.

I have been spending a lot of time thinking about my mother recently. Being the baby boy, my mother and I had the closest friendship out of us boys. Mom and I would have long conversations about everything. She taught me how to make objects out of clouds. I would sit in the front seat of the van and shout, “I see a horse! Look it’s a pirate ship! That one is a dragon breathing fire on the horse and pirate ship!” My mom always saw whatever I said was in the clouds. When Nathan and I found an artistic stroke with oil paints, mom bought us every color paint there was, and we pieced together a set of paintbrushes.

Looking back now, on those years growing up, I am surprised at all the memories I have of my single mother “being there”. I remember going to all of Nathan’s basketball games. I remember going out of town, traveling to Sea World, I remember her teaching me to cook. She was there more than most single parents are, and I have no clue how she did it. I remember the bags under her eyes after she came home late from a 15-hour day at her jobs, but I remember the pancakes on Saturday morning. I remember her short fuse at points, but I also remember the hug the next morning when I woke up. My brothers and I agree. Our mom gave us the best possible childhood she could. We had a backyard with a trampoline, a basketball hoop, we always had cable TV, we had a Nintendo the year in came out, and we have great memories of her “being there”.

The years have been hard for our family. After all the long hard years of her raising her boys, she finds out she had Multiple Sclerosis in the mid- 90’s. MS has put her in a wheelchair, and forced her to learn to write with her left hand. Physically my mom is a shell of the women that took me to my first professional basketball game. But, her heart is as big as it has ever been. My mom has watched all three of her boys grow and marry. She has three grandkids and a divorcee baby boy. She struggles with her physical body. There is anger under the surface when she can’t physically do what she once could. There is hurt when she can’t “be there” for her boys or for their kids.
My mother is so beautiful. The years have robbed her of walking, but the Lord has given her strength to live when most would have given up. I love my mom more than I realize. I have her nose, I have her thick hair, and her pail skin. But more than anything, I have her love no matter how much I screw up. I will never forget the phone call when I told her that I was getting divorced. The mom inside her started to cry and was at a loss for words. The women that went through the fire of a divorce got angry and tried to “get me through it”. But the mother in her won that fight, and we cried together. I could feel her love on the back of my head (it felt like one of her hugs, when she reaches up from her chair and pulls me close with her hand on my head). I love my mom. I love her for “being there”.

Happy Birthday To Me!

So, it is officially my birthday. I am now 24 years old. It has been a long journey since my last birthday. I sometime feel like I am 40 years old. My back hurts when I wake, and my heart weighs more than it should.

But I am as thankful as I can ever remember being in my life. I am so thankful for my family, and the support that they have shown me (even when they haven't agreed with my actions). I have a wonderful mother who has done more for me than I will ever know. I have three brothers that bless me more than I could ever tell them. And I have some good friends that do everything they can to make this boy feel as good about himself as possible.

There is a lot that I could blab on and on about, but I won't. I am glad that this past year in my life is over, but I am thankful for the things that the Lord has shown me. I have a smile on my face, because there is hope for me! Thank you Lord for being who you are... even if I don't fully understand all that you are. I am glad to be me! Thank you, to all those that have helped me get to this birthday! You are blessing to an undeserved kid!

"Touch'em All Kirby, Touch'em All"

I have been contemplating blogging about this for a long time now. On May 7th, Kirby Puckett passed away from a stoke. He was 45.

In 1990, I became a baseball fan. I was at the age when boys truly start to understand the rules of the game. While I enjoyed the season that year; the following year I became a Minnesota Twins fan. That season I remember watching the Twins play the White Sox a million times, and I saw them beat the stuffing out of the Royal's every time they stepped on the field.
I have never been very athletic, and height has never been associated with my name. So imagine my surprise to find out short fat kids can play baseball too. I watch Kirby Puckett knock the cover off almost every ball pitched to him, and jump over the wall in center field to make a catch. He was shorted than the rest of the players, and he wasn't the skinniest guy on the field. I was inspired. In my mind I had a chance to make it to the "big game". That year I watched the Twins win the World Series and Kirby had a great series. From that season on I have been a Twins fan, and Kirby was my hero.

What captured me more than his ability on the diamond, was his heart off the field. Kirby was constantly being named "Man of the Year" by the league for his work in the community. He was always in the hospitals visiting kids with cancer, or starting his own foundation for underprivileged kids. His smile was as famous as the great catches he made. He was a great player, and a better person.

Kirby's career was cut short by an eye condition, and he became...Well, to be honest, fat. He gained a lot of weight, and it showed as he gave his Hall of Fame speech when he was inducted in 2001. Shortly after his induction, he and his wife divorced. Sports Illustrated ran a big story on Kirby after he assaulted a lady in a restraunt. The story told of Kirby's affair with a women that lasted during his marriage and it also told of his "true" feelings about the charitable work. He hated it. He hated spending time with the kids. Kirby never commented about the article, but he no longer helped in the Twins front office. And, he was no longer the face of the organization. I was in college when I read this article. It broke my heart. The image that I held of him was broken.
I remained a Twins fan, but I stopped talking about how great of a guy Kirby was. When I watched ESPN break the story of his death, I was little busted up. I always knew that any person that is put on a petalstool will let you down, but when he died I felt bad for the way I totally dismissed him as a person because of a magazine article. No matter how he felt about the charitable work he did, he still did the work. He still did mountains of good for the kids in his community. He never went to the media to complain about "the organization" or his team mates. He played for the Twins his whole career, even when it was becoming popular to play the free agent market. The kids that he visited still found hope even if he felt the inconvenience of his time.

I am a fan of Kirby Puckett. He was a great player, and did more good for the people he came in contact with than I have attempted to do. I am still a Twins fan, even though I have never stepped foot in Minnesota. Hero's can let us down in the ways Jesus never will... but I don't know if Jesus ever played baseball (please understand the humor of tat statement, do no take that seriously). I am thankful for the life of Kirby Puckett. He meant a lot to me as a kid who knew he would never reach the majors, but still loved the game. I played sports because I saw it was okay to be on the field even if I wasn't most athletic. He made it easy to watch a full nine inning of ball.
Thanks Kirby.

My Brother Became My Brother

My oldest brother, Stan, lost his job over a month ago. He was building planes for a living. It was the job that he dreamed of having when he graduated from college. But, the bottom fell out and the world slapped him in the face, again. This new free time that has been given to him has offered him lots of time to think, and time to be with his young daughter. My brother has not led a charmed life by any measure.
When he was young he was constantly sick, and he even slipped into a comma for a small period. Later in his childhood, he watched my parents go trough a painful divorce. His father faded from his life, and he was forced helped my mother raise his two younger brothers. He didn’t have much time to deal with his emotions for himself. Instead for learning how to be himself, he had to help his brothers grow up. Stan went through his high school days very angry and confused about what his life meant. I watched Stan at his high school graduation come face to face with the man that he hadn’t called dad in a long time. Our father had made the trip to Texas from Florida, with his “new” family, to watch his oldest son graduate. There was a lot that both felt they needed to say to each other, but none of the words where said that night.
As Stan continued to live his life with a chip on his shoulder, he went through different jobs and different girlfriends. Life never made total sense to him. He could never understand why his life had unfolded the way had. After making the move to go to school in Waco, his long time girlfriend left him. He was left with nothing left to do except study, work, and try to forget the overwhelming feeling of rejection that life had been giving him for about 20 years.
Stan met the girl that eventually became his wife. Life didn’t become any easier when they learned that they had a baby on the way. His wife had a history of loosing a child during a pregnancy, so they braced themselves for a long nine months of uncertainty. They didn’t make it nine months, and Skylar Freeman was born a couple months premature. Over the next couple of months, Stan watched as his daughter fought for her life. Fast forward, a couple of years and Skylar has the biggest blue eyes and the goofiest grin found in the state of Texas. In this past year, Stan came face to face once again with the man that he had grown to hate. The three Freeman brothers drove to the home of their father. Making that drive, Nathan and I had no idea what would happen. When we arrived at the house, I prayed for Stan. I asked the Lord to move in the heart for these two men. And he did. There was laughter and tears of healing between a father and his oldest son. When we drove away, I heard Stan use the word “dad”.
All of these events lead to the defining moment in Stan’s life last weekend. Because he was out of work and had a world of time on his hands, my mother ushered Stan to a Christian retreat. I have spent hours and hours talking with Stan about the Lord. I have listened to Stan question the hurt in his life, and ask hard questions about the nature of our Creator.
Last night I called Stan to see how his weekend went. I listened as my brother talked to me about how the Holy Spirit moved in his heart. He spoke of humility and thankfulness. Over the weekend, my brother received the free Salvation that Jesus created on the cross. My brother became my brother in Christ. Now time can’t stop our relationship. I don’t know a lot about Heaven. Nevertheless, I believe we will know our family and friends when we get there. I am thankful for the Lord not giving up on Stan. I am hopeful that the life Stan will lead will be filled with great moments of following the Lords Will for him as a father and husband. I hope he is able to watch Skylar grow up, follow Christ, and chase her dreams.
I will say it again, because it fills me with joy, STANLEY FOWLER FREEMAN JR IS A BORN AGAIN FOLLOWER OF THE RISEN JESUS CHRIST! Thank you Lord! 

The Year In Review

My head can get clouded very easily. My view of myself is constantly getting too high or too low. My head can swell like a balloon around my personal thoughts of my goodness. I can become prideful of the stupidest parts of who I am. And on the flip side, I can force myself into the deepest, stickiest pits of low self-worth. I use the word "force" because there are time when I want to feel less than I might be. There is nothing healthy about these types of actions. What drives a person to "want" to live eye level with the dirt. Why would a person want to sink into hurt and pain? Why do I want to feel this pain of the past? To be honest, I would drather be know for shades of arrogance than to swim in pools of self loathing.
It has been a year since, what I thought was, my life walked away from me. She took her ball and went home... And I think she took some of my DVD's as well! As I look back over this "journey" to this point, I see a kid that has done a lot of growing. But there has been a lot of pain in my steps. There have been laughs and good things that have happened to me as well. I have watched the Lord move His hand in my favor. I have seen prayers answered, but not the way I asked him to answer them. And, I haven't deserved a bit of it. There is much for me to be thankful for, and I am...But my head can get clouded sometimes.
Even my moments of thankful clarity are bitter sweet. Pain stabs at wounds that haven't healed. There is comfort in the pain of the past. I think it is comferting because we own the pain. It is ours to feel and "get through". It becomes part of the person we find ourselves becoming. I find this true in my life. I keep my divorce close because it is inevitable that the wound will open again at some point... If it will be opened again, I should be the one to do it. I have to remind myself that I didn't do this to myself. I made mistakes, but leaving wasn't one of them. It has been a year...Wow! Now it's time to "move on". Time to move past what once was. Now it is time for me to allow myself to be more than the painful past. Full steam ahead... I have a feel this is going to hurt just as bad. I hope I really meant that!

Quick Question

I just want to pose a question. Where does our past stop and the future begin? Because if we are who we are today because of the past we have lived, where does the past stop? I want to fully give myself over to the possibilities that today and the future hold, but what about past that I still live in? My skin is burned from last week, so I am still wearing last week. I have grey hair caused by years of stuff, so I am constantly reminded of the past. I guess what I am trying to say is that the past doesn't stop just because the sun sets everyday. It seems to always be with me. Hard part about the past is finding a way not to allow myself to be a slave to it, because Christ has broken those chains...So why do I keep trying to put them back on?

Man Made Fences

All over the church you hear the phrase: “If you wait until you clean up your act to come to Jesus, you will never come.” What a true statement, but I fear that we believe that statement stop applying to us once we accept the salvation that Christ offers. I don’t know how many times I have intentionally tried to hide from the Lord until I got things straight. I do it all the time. I mess up, like I always do, and then I think I can “fix it”. I think I can solve the problems that arise in my life. I want to use the right words to talk to him with. I understand that there is a lot that I can control and that I have some power over some things in my life. But there is a lot that I can’t control. I get myself in a lot of trouble, and for some stupid reason, I want to believe that it puts a fence between my Father and me. I want to believe this because it helps me feed my ego; thinking that there is something I can do to make the Lord love me more… or less.
The truth is, no matter how long I wait to take things to the Lord, He already knows…and He has already forgiven me. The only fences built out of my sins are the ones that I try to box myself in out of guilt. Guilt doesn’t come from the Lord. He never makes us feel guilty; we do that to ourselves. He is always waiting for His children to stop being dramatic and just be His. I, more than anyone I know, want to make a production about how bad I “feel” about the position I find myself in. I want to talk to everyone I know about it. And, for some sick reason, I want to relive all the crap that I pull out of my past. When I do this, I am trying to put distance between the Lord and me. And while I know this isn’t possible, I try with all my might.
The point that I am trying to make is this: We should never wait to talk to the Lord about our lives. Pissed off? Tell him why. Happy? Let him share the moment with you. Hurting in ways you never thought possible? Let him take a moment to listen to you. Prayer is a dialog that starts with you being honest, but you have to find a place to start listening for him. I have come to understand that he understands every emotion that we can possibly feel, and not because he created them, but because he has experienced them first hand. There is nothing clean about the lives we lead. Nevertheless, He finds beauty in out attempts at perfection. 

Uncle Chad, Look at What I Can Do!

These are my brother’s kids, MaKayla and Evan. These are two of the best kids this world has ever seen. They also have all the energy a small city needs to keep it’s street lights lit. Two of the greatest words I heard last week where “Uncle Chad”… and I heard those words a lot. The acceptance that I hoped for was found the moment these kids saw me at the airport. I could see their faces light up with smiles. It is an amazing feeling to remember that there are people who love you for just being you. I looked in these kids eyes the entire week, and I saw love and forgiveness. The love in their eyes was there even after they got in trouble for not sharing toys. The forgiveness was always there, even after I wasn’t able to prevent Evan from falling down and hurting his knees.
Trust me, these kids aren’t perfect, and to be honest, I found myself wishing for a break from them at times. In spite of these imperfections, I came to understand why Christ said, “Let the children come.” And the statement, “Childlike faith” is easier said then done. I find it hard to not to be angry with those who tell me “no”, or to forgive those who fail me. I can’t seem to trust the Lord just because he says I should.
My trip to Florida was good. It was nothing like I expected, but it was what I needed. I was able to rest, but I had to work for it. I chased those kids until I was tired. But, I didn’t think about work the entire time I was there. The only books that I read where the books I wanted to read, not textbooks. And the times I looked into the sky for God, it wasn’t out of pain, it was out of praise. There was nothing exceptional about the vacation, but peace was found somewhere between the flight there and home.
So, now I am back to the real world. Back to work and school. I woke up in my own empty bed this morning, and it didn’t feel the same as I remembered. Now it’s time to live the rest of this life better than I lived the days of the past. Time to start stepping forward more than backwards. It’s funny to think that all of these thoughts came from those kids smiles. 

Burn Baby Burn!

Nathan and I had the great opportunity to watch a Spring Training game here in Florida. We sat on the side lawn and watched the entire game. It was the first live baseball game that the two of us watched together. The two of us love baseball. Both of us played ball in high school and we play catch every time we get together. We talked on the phone, long distance, during the last game of the World Series. We love to talk as if we could have made it to the "Big Show".
Two thing happened while we sat there and talked during that game. The first thing that happened was we had a great time while being away from our daily grind. Nathan did not have his kids crawling all over him, or he wasn't managing a deli that consumes his energy and mind. While Nathan loves his kids and enjoys his job, it was great for him not to have to focus on anything except being "Nathan". And, the same thing goes for me. For about three hours I didn't have to worry about getting a research paper done on time. I didn't have to worry about getting employees to "make coffee", and all of the other cleaning that has to be done at the store. And above all, for three hours I wasn't worried about being divorced. It was a great release for the two of us. We where able to just be brothers again. We wheren't trying to help each other with the issues that come up in our lives. We just laughed at each others jokes, traded stat's about our favorite teams, we got nachos and chili cheese fries, and made a promise to catch another game together. We where kids again... for three hours.
The second thing that happened during the game was a very bad sun burn! In the spirit of being kids, we where too excited to remember to put on sun block before we left for the game... and now it shows all over our faces and legs. We are lobsters. Lots and lots of pain!
While baseball is only a game, something Biblical happened during the nine innings we sat there, fellowship. Nathan and I encouraged each other while we watched the Braves beat the Dodgers. We affirmed each others lives through laughter. And we allowed each other to cut loose a little. There was joy found on the thrid-base line that day. I believe the Lord enjoys his children enjoying life. This life isn't meant to be merely "gotten through". It is meant to be enjoyed. And to be honest I have been just trying to get through today to get to tomorrow. And that is a miserable way to live. Heres to life, baseball, and the Lord that made both of them!

Looking for the Ocean

I am flying out to Orlando, Florida in the morning. I am going to see my brother, Nathan. I haven't seen him and his family in a while. I am looking forward spending some time with him and his kids. But, there is a more selfish reason for this trip. I am looking for a break. I am looking for some "me" time on the flight, and I want to see the ocean. I want to take hundreds of pictures of the water and the people around me. My goal is to catch up with my brother while I let my mind untie itself from the knots it has become twisted in.
I am so tired and I have so many balls in the air that I have been juggling for such a long time. I just want to let them drop for a couple of days while I take care of me for a while. Emotionally I am drained and physically I am tired. I haven't been able to observe the Sabith in such a long time. Maybe I will be able to just be "Uncle Chad" for a couple of days. Maybe Nathan's kids can give me some undeserved acceptance.
So that is the goal of the trip. I just want to "be" for a while. Maybe for a couple of days I will allow myself to enjoy the life the Lord has given me. Maybe I will find a way to let go of some of the things that I am binding myself with. There are alot of maybe's in my words tonight... hopefully I will come back to Dallas with a tan and not so many "maybe's".

 

Deep Blues

There are days when it is hard to find the strength to lift my head. My alarm goes off, and I just lay in a bed that will forever feel empty. There is nothing comforting about my bed, but somehow it feels better than the life that seems to be waiting for me to pull back the sheets. When did this life get so complicated that it takes a major decision to get me out of bed? Some days seem to be painted with deep blue strokes, and rays of sun have no chance at breaking through. What happens to the Christians that sometimes feel lost? The Christians that know the answers to the shallow questions they want to ask, what about them? I know where my salvation is found. And I also know there is more to my life than me. This doesn't change the weakness that I still feel from time to time. This doesn't change the pain that seems to grip me when I let my guard down. Tears form for unseen reasons, and laughter only happens when I reolize how rediculious I am being. But the weakness is still there.
Do these emotions have anything to do with my faith in Christ? Are these emotions my way of telling God that he is not enough for me, that I need more tan what he offers? Read the Psalms and you will read David talking about the same things I am talking about, but there is a difference... David follows his crys with statement of obdeince and faithfullness...I follow my questions with tears and more questions.
Not all days are like this, so I know that there is more to life than just me and my emotions. I know God is good and faithfull to me even when I am not. I see his goodness all around me, and I would even like to believe that I m part of that goodness. I would like to think that I am usefull to him in this sense. But the blue strokes run deep sometimes. But I know there is much more to this life than the blue.

Is grace worth dying for? I have been doing a lot of reading and thinking about what grace really is, and how in the world am I supposed to give more of it that I take. To be honest, these thoughts aren't pretty and I do not have much to be proud of. Grace can eat your lunch when you sit down with it. But is it meant to cut us in such a way? Is there any part of grace that is supposed to make us hurt and feel hardship?
When you hear the word grace, I believe your heart is supposed to smile. You mind is meant to go to places where people lend a hand to those in need, or other pretty places like the Cross... What about the Cross was pretty? Was it the man bloodied beyond recognition, was that pretty? Maybe it was the sin of the world that covered his body, was that pretty? While Christ walked the earth, His steps where grace filled. Even a mere touch of His robe caused grace spill onto those who touched it. It must have been a beautiful thing to behold...But that same grace caused Him the greatest pain imaginable. That same showing of grace caused hearts to be hardened when they saw it. It caused bitterness in the hearts of those who should have known enough to walk beside Him. I think I see some of those same bitter feeling bubbling inside of me.
So I ask again, "Is grace worth dying for?". Should it hurt? Should it cause us hardship? What I know for certain is that the grace that we are to freely give can cost us everything. So, why do I still have so much?