My dear journeying friends. I have withdrawn from writing lately, not because I do not care, or that I have forgotten or that I don’t want to. There is possibly a bit of each of those reasons that play into my absence over the last several days. One place I will tell you I have not been absent from is my walk with my Paraclete and with Kenny. Kenny, you remain in my heart in a very special way, and that is part of why I have screwed up my courage and energy to write a post today for this wonderful diary of discovery and also, paradoxically, of loss.
It seems that since Easter, we have taken divergent paths – probably because we each had separate ways that Christ had designed for our destinations. It still strikes me as miraculous that we manage to see each other at the campfire each night, and tell of our dreams. More than tell our dreams, we share them, so the telling is seldom necessary. To have such a truly platonic relationship with someone whom I have never seen is a miracle in itself, and I can only point at poetry as being what brought us together in a very unusual way. I do not know why I first read “Kolembo”‘s poetry, but it has been one of the great blessings of my life, and somehow, it led us on our Lenten walk to Jerusalem and now the 60 days beyond.
So, why should I be angry? There is no earthly, heavenly, or hellish reason for it, but it just is, and right now, as hard as I seek to run from it, I am less and less successful. I can make myself laugh and smile, but beneath it all I am angry; I know perhaps part of the reason I am so angry is that it is all directed at myself. I have no place to “vent” except to myself, so the circle keeps going, round and round.
I know that I can vent my anger at God, and I do; but my anger is not God’s fault, so why does God deserve to listen to it or put up with it, even though I know that God can and does, over and over, and still loves me all the more. I don’t understand the kind of love that goes to that degree. At times I have gotten glimmers of it with my own children, because I know that there is absolutely nothing they could do or say that could possibly make me stop loving them. So I know God loves me, I just don’t know why, and I get angry at myself at this stage of my life that I cannot move away from self-recrimination, and on to self-forgiveness, accepting of God’s perfect forgiveness. So you see, I am angry, and I don’t know where to run, except back to the source of love; Agape, again and again and again. Each time it is harder for me to accept with total belief, but yet I feel God urges me on, beckoning me to come and rest awhile and let the anger go.
Again and again the Psalms 139 comes to me – this time in the paraphrase by Eugene Peterson called “The Message”:
The Message (MSG)
A DAVID PSALM
I’m an open book to you;
even from a distance, you know what I’m thinking.
You know when I leave and when I get back;
I’m never out of your sight.
You know everything I’m going to say
before I start the first sentence.
I look behind me and you’re there,
then up ahead and you’re there, too—
your reassuring presence, coming and going.
This is too much, too wonderful—
I can’t take it all in! 7-12 Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit?
to be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
If I go underground, you’re there!
If I flew on morning’s wings
to the far western horizon,
You’d find me in a minute—
you’re already there waiting!
Then I said to myself, “Oh, he even sees me in the dark!
At night I’m immersed in the light!”
It’s a fact: darkness isn’t dark to you;
night and day, darkness and light, they’re all the same to you. 13-16 Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
you formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
before I’d even lived one day.
17-22 Your thoughts—how rare, how beautiful!
God, I’ll never comprehend them!
I couldn’t even begin to count them—
any more than I could count the sand of the sea.
Oh, let me rise in the morning and live always with you!
And please, God, do away with wickedness for good!
And you murderers—out of here!—
all the men and women who belittle you, God,
infatuated with cheap god-imitations.
See how I hate those who hate you, God,
see how I loathe all this godless arrogance;
I hate it with pure, unadulterated hatred.
Your enemies are my enemies!
23-24 Investigate my life, O God,
find out everything about me;
Cross-examine and test me,
get a clear picture of what I’m about;
See for yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong—
then guide me on the road to eternal life.