In all circumstances I will praise God, because regardless of how I feel He is worthy of praise.
I guess I decided to start a blog because I’ve considered it a few times, not because I think many, if any, people will want to follow this, but because I want to express myself without being a burden to anyone. Here at least, if you’re reading this you chose to come here, to get a scrap from my unhinged and ceaselessly whirring brain/heart.
I guess I also want to have a place where I can direct the ones I love to read what I’m praising God for / Battling with / Experiencing / Hoping / Feeling so that I can bounce things off them [you] and glean from your wisdom, pressing on in the journey together.
I had a good Saturday really, played football this morning with a bunch of lads, (I was dreadful on the whole, but I enjoyed myself. Despite taking a forceful blow to the face) Then shopping for Chinese new year supplies after meeting some lovely people was all good. The evening was lovely food and company great, step-up-2 was amazing. But my chest throbs with a dull ache of carefully suppressed emotion. So much to be thankful for, so many positive things I could dwell on, why does my heart grasp the hurts and drive them deep to it’s centre? So UNREASONABLE of you my heart, and more than a little inconvenient. Who are you serving my heart? It is God we love isn’t it? He for whom we live and in whom life is found. And has He let me down? Absolutely not. Why so swift to allow the carelessly flung shrapnel of unintended attacks on tender hopes to scrape the budding confidence you’re only recently seeing grow? Why am I so seemingly powerless to deflect them? Am I crazy. It would be safest to assume I am, give up on the doubts that I’m beginning to have in my self doubt. But in my heart I know that’s not right. I believe I do have something to offer, even though admitting that scares me immensely. More than it should. I believe that the enthusiasm and braveness I showed in that football game SHOULD count for more than actually being good at football. I believe that even though I am not spectacular in any skill, I can love people really well. Of course not perfectly, but genuinely, and [hopefully] often quite selflessly. I believe that LOVE is more important than talents or skills or possessions or good looks, really. But on the surface, and among others who don’t see it’s value, I sneer at my heart’s tenderness, hate it for humiliating me. I fantasise about swapping it for a worldly kind of success, an ability not to care. But please God, don’t take it away. Life is about letting God’s glory rise in our lives. I don’t need, or deserve any glory. That should make it all much simpler. Trouble is, even though I can love without being loved in return, I DO WANT to be loved. My secret that I try to hide. I’m the tough cookie. I don’t care if you don’t love me. Well actually, if you outright don’t love me then I don’t really care, what I can’t yet seem to handle is love fluctuations. I can deal with being hated, I can deal with apathy, just as long as you don’t lure me into hoping or believing that you love me, and then just as I dare to accept it, retreating from that intimacy. Holding it at a tantalisingly close, just out of reach place.
Don’t assume that just because I love you, I’ll accept being used. I won’t. I’ll give you time, I’ll love you for sure. But there’s a limit to how long I can hope, before I’ll just break. Even then, I’ll love you, but I might have to walk away to save my heart from being destroyed.