An Ode to the Weary Ones

Raise your hand if you're perfect.


If you raised your hand, you're a dirty liar.  I'm a Christian, which automatically forces me to confront this fact. We are imperfect. Beautifully, disastrously,  tremendously imperfect.  Am I allowed to admit that?  Or is that a secret we're supposed to keep so it looks like we're really on our "A" Game (or in this case, our "J" Game - Jesus Game - ZING)... ?


Sigh.  I am openly admitting to being imperfect, and I'm openly admitting to being tired.  "My faith is dead, I need a resurrection somehow".  Stepping on any toes yet?  What I need is an encounter.  There's a saying, "If you feel a distance between you and God, guess which one of you moved?" And I get that.  But what happens when you didn't move away intentionally?  It's kind of like... remember as a kid, when we'd be drug into some kind of store by our parent(s), and you're just trailing along behind them, not knowing where they're going or what they're looking for, and not really caring anyway, but you just follow along.  Do you recall what would happen?  You get sidetracked by something you see; a toy, maybe some enticing food, yet you mindlessly keep walking along. Then you look up, realizing your parent - whom you'd thought you were following obediently - is, in fact, not anywhere near you, and you have actually been following some other lady who looks absolutely nothing like your mom! Anyone else?  
Then what happens?  You panic. You panic and call her name. You panic, call her name, and run through all the aisles looking for her.  Typically, she's looking for you, too, and you reunite and yell at each other and then hug and then yell some more.


I feel like this is the same with God.  You're following, not sure where you're going, you get sidetracked while still attempting to follow, then, TA-DA... gone. Panic, yell, run, reunite, anger, love.  Rinse and repeat. 


Now, where I'm at is... I followed, I accidentally got sidetracked, I panicked, I yelled, but I'm too tired to run in an attempt to find, because this has happened all too often.  So instead, I sat down on the bench in the front of the store and decided, "Maybe He'll come find me and hug me... I'm too tired to run around looking... again."  This is a soiled love.  If it were fresh, I'd never run out of the energy necessary to chase after Him.  Therefore, again, "my faith is dead, I need a resurrection somehow."


I am in need of a new encounter.  I do not doubt my love for Him, that is there as it always will be; I only doubt my ever-dimming flame.  I am in need of some lighter fluid.


May I also briefly vent about how horribly ill I'm feeling today?  To declare it "inconvenient" is an astronomical understatement, friends.  That is all that I will say on the matter.  


Ashley.