to the sea, i crawl on my knees

I met Jars of Clay, like really, thanks to Daggy, and I took to them the same way I did Brandon Heath - hook, line and sinker. This is just one of my faves.... They always did have funny titles for their songs. It's okay, I love them all the same.

You remember my theory on survival rate for bad days being 100%? That doesn’t make sense now. It makes sense in the cursory perspective, you know, in the it’s an awesome life and what’s the alternative kind of way. In the things that sound deep and pretty to say and all that it all works out okay, let’s hold hands and be happy way. That sounds sensible in my head I swear.

I sort of think a lot. I get bugged by things. I walk around and have these conversations about things I see. Sometimes aloud. Sometimes I laugh. It’s why I love walking so much. But I guess I hide also. From things that I can’t change. From people who make me face things I don’t want to face. I’m currently hiding from what I know is going to be a difficult conversation with the people who still call the shots. It’s okay for me to do that now, because the call hasn’t come. That it should have over a week ago is no matter. It hasn’t come, therefore, I am waiting for the call. That should hold water for a while.

This Kate girl makes failing a lot at things look like a bed of roses. I know this because that’s the finished product. It’s easy to talk in used-to’s and in was’s because it’s a testament to growth. Because after, you can see what it all meant, you can see the bigger form that got you to solid ground today.

…except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.

Sometimes you really want something because the alternative is worse. Not because you think that’s what’s best for you. Sometimes you want freedom from anxiety so badly, you’ll line up geese and swans, provided you get duck-looking birds in a row. Maybe it was a little like that. Maybe all of it was a little like that. Or a lot. Been finding myself at this same junction often. I’ve had to have this conversation many times. So I’m hiding also from the people who care about what happens to me too. I’m going to go through this one solo. Or with my blog. Eventually the show-down will come. Maybe there will be tears. Maybe I’ll take the high road for a while longer. It's easier than feeling selfish I guess, even though that's not what that is.

One day a friend of ours came to the house. She’d been sick, like sick sick, not the cramps or flu or headache sick. But she was coming to see a someone worse off. So when we asked her how she’d been, she wouldn’t say how sick she really felt. Because in comparison, she was fit as a fiddle. Only she wasn’t. The fact that someone else is having it harder than you doesn’t change the fact that you’re having it hard, does it? I got that from this in my opinion meh  ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ movie that others seem to have loved. That is what happens when you take books, awesome books, and put a cast to them for an hour and a half. 102 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

“I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have.” 

I’ll end with this poem that was written a few years ago.

'Trudge on, boy,'
He told himself.
'Put one foot ahead
And follow with the other.'

So he stepped into the raging river,
And when the waters threatened to sweep him away,
'Trudge on!' 
He told himself.
When the raging waters
Threatened to submerge him,
He swam.
When the raging currents 
Threatened to pull him under,
He clutched at everything he could
To keep afloat.
And he reached the other shore.

'Trudge on, boy,'
He told himself.
'Put one foot ahead
And follow with the other.'

And barefooted, he stepped on dry brush and thorn.
There was blood as plant pierced,
There was screaming as plant was pulled out,
There was the anguish 
Of taking the next step,
No easy way, no painless way.
'Trudge on boy! Trudge on!'
Until, exhausted, he got to the other side

'Trudge on, boy,'
He told himself.
'Put one foot ahead
And follow with the other.'

And so he started up the mountain.
Bare clothing lost his heat,
Sharp winds caught his moisture,
Lips parched and cracked,
Feet blue with frost,
Teeth clattering like a ramshackle tuktuk,
And all he wanted was to stop,
To stop and sleep,
And let the cold freeze his heart
And die in his slumber.

'Trudge on, boy! 

Don't stop now! Trudge on! 
And he put one foot in front of the other
'Almost there, boy! Almost there! 

Keep moving, lad! Move! Move! Move!'
All strength summoned and consumed,
He finally crossed the mountain,
And relieved, he fell flat and cried for joy,
Finally, it was over!
He got up and looked around,
His shoulders sagging with every second.

In front of him, was a desert.

'Trudge on, boy'.

at the sea, i wait on my knees...