When she’d first happened upon it, she thought it cute and fun and marveled at the novelty. It was such a delightful experience to handle it, hold it, watch it. Of course, she knew better than to spend too much time with it because she’d seen and heard all the dangers and pitfalls of befriending such a creature. No good ever came of it. Some people could maintain a healthy distance when living in fairly close proximity to a lair, but that’s where she had failed. She had not exercised self-control and gave in consistently to the desire to be near it. She could have stayed away. She should have stayed away. But she did not. That had happened so much that now she was no longer the visitor but the visited upon. It sought her out in unexpected places, and always, because of the wonder and sense of peace it seemed to give her, she would wile away the time with it, even taking it with her when it could hide in the darkness.

She thought of how she had done this to herself. Whenever she began self-pity, it was smothered by the acknowledgment that she was solely responsible for her plight. She began the relationship with the full realization of what this creature was capable of. Because of what she had sown, she was now reaping the wind.

She sloshed along slowly, one careful foot feel after another. In the distance she saw a light twinkle, and she realized she must be close to a house. Father Joshua lived on the northmost part of the beach, so that must be his place. She continued the arduous trek, a tiny bead of hope tracing the thoughts that circled in her mind.

Father Joshua will let me stay for the night, and I’ll be safe. Someplace warm. That’s all I want right now!

Wait . . . . . . He’ll ask what I’m doing in this condition at this time of night. I can’t tell him what I’ve been doing. I’m too ashamed. He’s not a gossip, but this is a small town, and somehow these kinds of things get shouted from the rooftops. I could never do that to my family—or to myself. What could I possibly tell him?

She thought. Clever scenarios presented themselves one after another as she entertained what she might possibly offer as an explanation. Little by little, feeling a misery she was all too familiar with by now, the firefly of hope that had lit her mind just a few minutes before now quietly gasped out of existence, quenched by a knowledge as profoundly cold as her skin. The safety obvious to any other person was not ultimately safety to her. She could not concoct a story reasonable enough to satisfy this good, intelligent man. He was kind and full of grace, but this was too complicated. Her mind was muddied with fatigue and worry edging on desperation. She could not think fast or well. And she could not simply tell the truth. The fear of that was graver and more daunting than her fear of the elements.

She would continue to search for a cave among the rocks. She would be all right. She had experienced cold, hunger, and discomfort worse than this. She determined to begin anew tomorrow. Tomorrow would be another day, another start, another chance to leave behind this wretched mess of habit and start fresh. She would be glad for this night to be over and would consider the memory of it payment enough if it helped launch her into the life she knew she was meant to lead, the life she was living before she met the dragon. That blasted dragon.

In the darkness, a black smile twisted the features of a scaly, silver-green face. With seeing eyes and knowing mind, it watched the girl. Tomorrow, yes. There is always tomorrow.

From May 14: …if all such things [trifles] were met with a momentary uplifting of the heart to God, all these little frailties and worries would tend to mould the character more and more to God’s pattern, and they would assuredly lose their sting; for he who things much of God will daily think less of himself. ~H. L. Sidney Lear

There is an emptiness like a calm that comes from deadness. I close my eyes and wait to see what I feel, and it’s like trying to feel at home in a house where everyone and everything have moved out. There are no decorations, no furnishings, only the smell of house and the echoey sound of my black shoes on the wood floor. I know that I am the one who has given away and sold all the things in the house, yielding exactly that–a house instead of a home. I am relegating Your Holy Spirit to a basement apartment instead of fully welcoming Him into every single room.

Lord, God, please break my heart with what breaks Yours. I cannot keep living like this–existing and getting by, waiting for the elusive “more.”

Daddy, please grant me the gift of the desire to want what You want, to want to align my will with Yours. Please, Daddy, deliver me… from me.

But it is a thief. It steals the magic of the ordinary moment, deprives the opportunity to call on the life of the indwelling Holy Spirit to show up in power and real love, reduces memory to wisps, vague recollections, and sometimes even wipeouts. It is not a noble friend, but instead a stealthy drug dealer who cares nothing for the wretched ones who do anything for another evening of light-heartedness and forgetfulness. Ease the burden. Make life more fun. These are the mottos of the addicted. These are the trappings of the enslaved, the blind in desperate need of deliverance.

Maybe. 

Until then, I’m hidin’ out here in my little cabin on a hill.

Today a baby will drown in a bathtub. A young black mother will die of AIDS. A father will get butchered by terrorists. A young man will get kidnapped by rebels. A young girl will get sold into prostitution. A Chinese Christian will be bodily torn apart. A teenager will commit suicide because of bullying.

And here I am, sitting on my bed, typing on a laptop, croissants waiting in the kitchen to be filled for our ham & egg breakfast. I feel like I’m supposed to be part of the answer. But I am more of the same, same problem. And I don’t know when that will change.

I walked into someone’s garage (isn’t it interested how people we don’t know are our friends or family in our dreams, and it’s perfectly normal?!). There was a black SUV in it, and I saw something move on the tire. It was this giant bullfrog working its way to the floor. I looked around and saw there were more scattered here and there. The entire floor was a shallow pool with plants and water life. A starfish was under the car. Small fish peppered the water, and bullfrogs rested underwater beneath big lily pads.

After this, I was in the car with Mom. She was driving fine until she started reading something. The car gradually aimed to the shoulder, and I finally said something when we were aimed right at two garbage cans and a fence supported by a bunch of big sprawling bushes. She snapped to and regained proper control. When we were coming up on the home we were going to, she totally missed the house. She swung wide to the right so she could make a U-ie (how IS that spelled?) and said, “Watch for cops! I’m gonna try this. Watch for cops.” As she spun the car around, I realized we were in the black SUV I’d just seen.

I hated having to be the one to tell her–and the rest of the family–that Mom should not be driving anymore. I just looked at her and felt such a despondence. I knew this day would come, but I was not ready for my mom to grow weak and homebound. She’s always been so strong and active. This would suck.

Then I woke up.

What if I find myself bound by the power of my own fleshy desire, incapable of denying the momentary hunger its pleasure, nor the motivation to even want to…? Is this talking about salvation, or the rut that we create when we continually cave?

I want to want the higher road. I don’t know how to make that want grow and become the thing that motivates deep, lasting internal change. The little red guy wants what he wants, and the little white guy wants what he wants. When I either cave or do nothing, the little red guy wins. Proactivity is the key here. So–how to go about that without it being a pick-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps mentality…

whatever it was, i perceived an unspoken concern on her part, which hung over our entire time together. she seemed to genuinely like her presents, but there was a holding back in her SO reminiscent of the old days. i thought this new Ch was less hold-backish and more out-there. maybe it’s something she’s struggling with. maybe i had nothing to do with it. so many times i have, so i go there. it was there when the other 3 were dancing, i was taking pictures, and she sat curled up in a lounge chair.

i wonder if she determined to go with whatever happened, since we really had only a loose plan, and we never know what might happen when we get together. I wonder if she was looking forward to what she mentioned in her email, something like, “i can see ones who love me around me, praying for me, asking for Abba’s blessing, being in the Word, and praying.” (she hates being misquoted so it’s a good thing she won’t see this.) but looking forward to that more than she wanted to, to prevent that disappointment.

T was the first to have to leave, and when Ch asked the rest of us about getting a ride home, nobody said anything at first. Those first few seconds of silence are loud, aren’t they… when G asked R if she could go home that way, she replied, “i guess so…” i asked R what her plans were for the day, and she said, “i don’t have any. this is it,” and she laughed. Ch seemed kinda deflated as she got up, got her bag, and said, “i better just go with T now so nobody has to change plans.” not snarky, just matter of fact and bland.

i asked G afterward if she thought Ch seemed happy at how the time went. she replied that she probably would’ve liked to have talked more. i did think of that. here she was, half the reason for the party, and there was no praying, no asking for blessing, dancing (which she isn’t coodinated enough to perform), and no one wants to go out of her way to give her a ride home so she can visit longer. any emotion or thought i could attribute to her is entirely speculative on my part. it just makes sense that she was kind of bummed to have left at that point.

i find now that i don’t want to mention anything to her because i don’t want her to say something i don’t want to hear. oh, yeah–self-protection in the first degree. i don’t have the devotion to You or the courage it takes to do the right thing. i will suffer for this. there are consequences for evasion. i am awol.

Day two: I’m prompted, I’m moved, I choose wrongly.

And so on. Nothing changes. “I’m stuck inside this rut that I fell into by mistake… I gotta get outta here, and I’m begging You, I’m begging You to be my escape.”

I’m afraid that after so many opportunities to choose rightly and failing, that I will become callused and then hopelessly embedded in cement shoes of the soul.

This can’t keep happening. Something’s gotta change. And that’s what makes me so very afraid…