routine

Everyday the boy wakes up, breathes, eats, breathes and lays his head back to sleep. Scattered between these five actions are other actions that differ from day to day, but when taken up as a whole are all the same group of actions on random repeat.

He realizes and a thirst for novelty awakens. "Truth is novel," he says. He yearns for the real, but searches for it on the abstract edges where searching is most exhilirating. With the searching begins rampant dreams. Some said outloud because sometimes when things are loud/big enough, we believe in it. Others said outloud as some form of a purging or cleansing process always followed by a long sigh, thick with doubt.

Dreaming and searching then become a part of the melting pot of actions that make life so routine for the young boy.

As a result, searching for truth ceases -- but it happens without the boy's knowing. Unaware, he keeps searching, but little does he know that he is only searching for novelty...and not truth.

Something new. Something beyond normal. Something different. I feel it all escapes us far too much.
At the same time, I think all of us wants routine, just not the routine we have now--it's either the wrong things or the wrong order.


note on the slight 'nonsensicalness' of this entry: Sometimes you write, and your writing transcends your thoughts and when you re-read it, it's not that it doesn't make sense...it's just that you don't fully understand it yet.

such little understanding of grace.

at times i feel far from being a 'sinner free'.

I feel like a sinner locked up, trapped up, and without much hope. That makes me want to lie face down away from God and whisper for his forgiveness -- trembling in doubt and a pitiful feeling as I tell myself, "I fully understand if you don't accept me now".

These feelings don't come from grave, 'serious' sins. But 'small', 'little' ones that bring me back to the dark corners within me. There is no measurable scale on sin, but I believe there are certainly some things that bring us faster to our shadows than others.

"Grace," I yell. "Grace," I scream. I raise my voice louder to extract from the volume some kind of conviction and belief, but layered under the loud yelling is just a hollow hope that echoes a fading desire for something to be real.

Rather... today, I feel and yearn for only your mercy. Father, I understand your wrath and reluctance if ever it exists within your heart.

"Mercy..." I whisper it softly through my trembling lips.

I do not understand Your grace, but praise be to You for it.

sah-seum

As the deer panteth for the water so my soul longeth after You.
You alone are my heart's desire and I long to worship You.