When does purpose and drive become arrogance?
When does surrender to God’s will bump up against the kind of giving up that breeds hopelessness?
When is faith presumption?
When is humility just feeling a lack of self-worth?
And when does analysis become pure criticism?
To think—to be—such a mix of dark and light, of bristle and silk.
The will wobbles back and forth between leaning in and running away, between giving up and holding tight fists.
Oh God, are we performing empty rituals, cup and bread, songs and sermons, trying to find meaning when there is none,
. . . trying to convince the world and ourselves we have found all the answers? When we don’t even know all the questions.
If there is meaning,
If there is purpose,
Why are there so many barriers, the path so thorny? Why the clouds and chaos?
As days flit away, filled up with critiques and commas, baking and brooding, there is a kind of desperation, a deep searching for You.
What a black heart I must have to have journeyed so long
and come only so far.
When does doubt yield to wonder? Wonder to glory?
~Lilly Green 2-2011