The Depth of Dissension

It has been a long time since I've been able to sit down and write. I could go on with a list of how busy it has been (It has.) and how much I have wanted to write (I have.). But it would be futile in the contrast of the reality that I have simply felt dried up with no ambition or inspiration to be able to even write words on a page. I haven't wanted to talk to anyone (What?!) and I have simply become a lazy ball of complacency.

And yet, this was not what I wanted. Often, I would sit down alone and try to contemplate what was happening to me. There were times when it literally felt like I could not breath...as if my air supply was cut off from the source. It has affected relationships. It has affected work ethic. It has permeated me. Or maybe I have permeated who I am to be with Him who created me.

Over the last week, since I got back from New Orleans, I have had the chance to actually realize the depth of the dissension that has been occurring at the core of who I am.
This weekend, during Pulse--my favorite weekend at Blackhawk that pulls together artists for the sake of learning what it means for the artist to serve God and the Church, emphasizing our call and vocation in regards to this--all I could realize was how disconnected I was, how little inspiration I had and how much that is affecting me at my core. The move to New Orleans has been sucking a lot of time from me, with all of the little details that need to take place. I am simply too busy.
But at Pulse, I began to realize how far, after all of the business, I was from true restoration and redemption. The reality of who I am without Christ began to set in. The chasm became clear as I stood in the back during communion, not even able to go up to the first few rows and sit with everyone else during worship. All of my striving...all of my trying...everything I had tried to do had pushed me further from the goal and the reality of that was evident.

But what to do about it? Anger. Frustration. Defensiveness. Blame...On everyone but myself.

And then, last night, I broke. In the darkness of my bedroom, I quite literally cried out. I pounded my fists on my bed. I mourned my inability to make my strivings work. And I reconciled myself to the knowledge that I can't do it.
And so, I sat. And sobbed. And was left unanswered and unhopeful and fell asleep with the knowledge that I was further than I had been from my sweet Savior that I quite possibly had ever been. (I am beginning to think that the more knowledge that we gain of Christ, the further we can be separated from Him if we allow our hearts to do it.)