Lately, I've been wondering: Is there no room for doubt and disbelief in Christianity today?
It is an unsettling question, but it is one that has permeated this college experience.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Star Screaming
Don't let the title deceive. There is far too much emotion packed in those two words; I may be falsely advertising.
I keep insisting that there is much for which to be thankful. Too much. Recognition is not the problem. I can be happy for other people regardless of whether or not I am happy for myself.
But about the latter, I am not. Perhaps I sin in feeling thus.
Did you ever walk alone at night spurning the same stars that you, just yesterday, longed to embrace? The curses you yell are not those that come in sound but in brain waves. These are frequencies that no one else can hear, that one else wants to hear, especially yourself.
So I wrap myself, comfort myself in silence. At least that's what I want to call it. Of course, it's not.
I want to care about others, but it is difficult. I don't care that this person has this test or that deadline, this struggle or that pain--"get over it," I think to myself. Because that's what I need to do. But I can't.
There is a lot of negativity in my statements. I am obsessed with what I cannot, won't, have not done. Even reproducing words creates a sea of pessimism.
Raymond continues to call me. He seems to be the typhoon of optimism. "Have your best day yet" his answering machine says.
Aunt Grace once reprimanded me for being overly uncertain. That's a nice way of putting it. I will grant that she was right. Ah, but it is so hard.
I would like nothing more than to have another not only understand me but in one stroke push me onward, backward, or perhaps straight into the ground. It's not a morbid thought at all--quite reassuring.
The bottom line, for now, is that I spurn the gradients in my life--it is the curse of being imperfectly well-rounded, deficiently one-sided.
Just as grades cannot possibly be the only indicator of interest, vocation or calling, so too would I argue that constantly pursuing studies in an area that is superficially interesting but empty to my soul is just as vaporous.
Do I see myself in the projects of France? In the pulpit of a church? In a chair at the office?
Too many questions for tonight.
Let me pray more yet.
I keep insisting that there is much for which to be thankful. Too much. Recognition is not the problem. I can be happy for other people regardless of whether or not I am happy for myself.
But about the latter, I am not. Perhaps I sin in feeling thus.
Did you ever walk alone at night spurning the same stars that you, just yesterday, longed to embrace? The curses you yell are not those that come in sound but in brain waves. These are frequencies that no one else can hear, that one else wants to hear, especially yourself.
So I wrap myself, comfort myself in silence. At least that's what I want to call it. Of course, it's not.
I want to care about others, but it is difficult. I don't care that this person has this test or that deadline, this struggle or that pain--"get over it," I think to myself. Because that's what I need to do. But I can't.
There is a lot of negativity in my statements. I am obsessed with what I cannot, won't, have not done. Even reproducing words creates a sea of pessimism.
Raymond continues to call me. He seems to be the typhoon of optimism. "Have your best day yet" his answering machine says.
Aunt Grace once reprimanded me for being overly uncertain. That's a nice way of putting it. I will grant that she was right. Ah, but it is so hard.
I would like nothing more than to have another not only understand me but in one stroke push me onward, backward, or perhaps straight into the ground. It's not a morbid thought at all--quite reassuring.
The bottom line, for now, is that I spurn the gradients in my life--it is the curse of being imperfectly well-rounded, deficiently one-sided.
Just as grades cannot possibly be the only indicator of interest, vocation or calling, so too would I argue that constantly pursuing studies in an area that is superficially interesting but empty to my soul is just as vaporous.
Do I see myself in the projects of France? In the pulpit of a church? In a chair at the office?
Too many questions for tonight.
Let me pray more yet.
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