It’s the bottom of the third inning in my life, and I have learned two things: that I am neurotic, and God is a good parent. Oh my, so split of attention am I, so covertly hungry for affirmation, so desperately insecure about stupid things, so terrifically uncertain about most of life’s big stuff: how to work to my delight and the common good, how to be married, how to love God, how to be still and know that God is God, how to look you in the eye with real-life love.
Oh Lord, is it dusk or dawn?
Oh Lord, if it’s tears now, is there something light behind it?
Oh Lord, why can I only find you in the whispering willows, in the deep-sea dives of thought, in the soliloquys of my fragmented mind, in this godforsaken abstraction? Oh, find me on the street corners of my life: where the traffic is heavy, where only wisdom can stand the thick and demanding air, where your people are. Set me upon a journey to find you, Christ, in the direction of these smelly humans, despite (or illuminated by?) the starry thoughts I think about you and the kingdom you are supposedly bringing to bear here.
I wanna get better,
blared the song amid the brunch crowd at Pub 819. And here I am, six hours later, turning it over into prayer:
I wanna get better, Lord, even if you’ve got to rip foundations out of a moldy house, even if I’ve got to open some smelly rooms.
I wanna get better, Lord, even if I can’t toss this journey into a microwave or find its completion at the end of a Google rainbow.
Do you want to be made well?
is the only question you care for me to answer, which is exactly why I hate it. If I had no eyesight, then hell yeah, Jesus, I want to be made well. But you and I both know what this kind of wellness means, what it means to really get better.
Save me, true Jesus, from the temptation to idly complain as I live less alive each day.
Strengthen my hands, o Lord, as I rage against cynicism even as it rages in me, as I take uppercuts against despair even as it lands uppercuts in me, as I scream against distraction
because all I have ever wanted to do is be in quiet love with you and your son and your stupendous creation as it never yawns and never does a commonplace thing but burns, burns, burns like a yellow roman candle
and to this end,
I wanna get better.