Title-less

People do a lot more talking than living. It’s sounds cynical, but it is reality. We read the Bible, sit in church, have an incredible encounter with the Lord, re-commit ourselves to living a life of no compromise, say that we will learn to operate in the prophetic even in mundane situations, become exhausted from constantly exerting the energy it takes to engage with the Holy Spirit, become frustrated with the very idea of fasting, and a week later think back on the whole thing as a great “mountain top” experience.

I know that this is all coming across very critically, but please know that it is a self-inspired critique. I have just told you in a very long, run-on sentence about much of my Christian experience. I find that what I am really running after a good chunk of the time are the warm and fuzzy feelings of a good time with Jesus. When it comes to actually living a life of surrender, most of the time, I’m a pansy.

Right now, I am gripped with the gravity of the hour at which we live, and it has inspired me to live a life of longsuffering, but where will that conviction go when the Lord is silent? What will I do when He isn’t speaking to me so clearly and I don’t feel Him? How will I act in the dark night of my soul?

My past experience has told me that I will slack off and wait for the next mountain top, and that pattern scares the hell out of me. I want to be God’s friend, His best friend, not the person He invites to his birthday party because we hung out a few times back in the day. Honestly, I am so terrified of repeating the past, I could crap my pants. I don’t dare allow myself any comfort, but rather put on my sackcloth and ashes, crying out to not be a fool, but rather to store up oil that He may know me on the day of His coming.

On a lighter and totally unrelated note, last Friday I was required to go to this concert, where a sophomore spoke to us briefly about her work. She began her speech by telling us that her given name was the one printed in the hand out, however her “Art Name” what Ophelia, and that’s the name that she goes by. It was so ridiculous, that I knew that I needed one, so here it is: Che “Dangerous Mind” Guevara. I don’t know what I did to earn the nick-name, but, hey, it’s my art name and reflective of the fact that no one understands me.