Last night was frustrating. It's finals time, and I couldn't focus for my life. I was distracted early in the evening, and I couldn't shake it for the rest of the night. Finally, near midnight, I left my work/school office and went home.
Angry as hell, I went out for a hard run. I never run. Well, maybe three times a year.
I ran maybe three miles, and then I sprinted as far as possibly could until I couldn't feel my legs or breathe. I was praying the whole time. Hard.
I climbed on top of two hay bales in some farmer's field, and poured my heart out to the Lord.
It's been a dark couple of months. I've wrestled to surrender my cynicism. I want so badly to return to my childlike walk with Jesus. So badly. I'd give anything. I wish I could feel again, I wish I could hope, I wish I could be settled in his love.
But I wasn't. The Lord developed my cynicism. I idolized reality. It was terrible.
And then, and then there were three shooting stars, and I was released. I grinned at the tackiness of the exchange, and I was filled with the Spirit's hope again. And oh, my friend, that I could express what I have learned. In joy, in hardship, in success, in failure, in hopefulness, and in cynicism, there is only meaning in Jesus.
Before I am an intellectual, I belong to you. Before I am a musician, I belong to you. Before I am a cynic, I belong to you. Before I am anything that makes up my being, I am your child.
Fill me with your solemn understanding, your corrective cynicism, and your childlike meekness, that I may follow you with all of my being, surrendered, and trusting.
