Sixteenth Post

Wow, I am such a hypocrite. I've been tossed back and forth by every wave, blown here and there by every wind; one minute satisfied with Jesus, the next, crushed by my unfaithfulness. But I encouraged myself; it's sad, actually, but I went back and read some of my blog. My excuse? To see where I've come from, and pathetically grasp at what I once recently had. All shame aside, I stumbled upon this very recent challenge to others, which ends up being a challenge to myself.

"Take an objective look at yourself over the past few months. Isn't God working in you? Breaking you free from bondage, bringing you nearer to Him, igniting PASSION in your heart to know Him and love Him. Ask your Father in heaven to help you see yourself how He sees you. Don't settle for guilt, shame, disappointment. Fight for a clear perspective on who He says you are."

Fight. That's what gets to me. I have not fought, but rather been pitiful in my defense rather than fighting for my faith. "Fight for my faith, live what I believe, gotta stand on my feet and sing, Oh I will sing..." I believe God is challenging me here. Do I fight, or lament in my supposed suffering? I have no grounds for my laments in comparison to others who continue to praise God, despite their trials. I am a sad warrior in God's Kingdom, but God is faithful to his people. "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." Am I willing? Is my heart in this? No, not right now, but my heart is still beating. I am still allowed this opportunity to further God's Kingdom in a practical way. So I will fight for a right perspective on who God is, who I am, what I am doing, and what this ship is doing. This is too big to simply give up until I am done. I have something to offer here, and I will not shy away from that.
I'll tell you a bit about where I am/what I'm doing/my living conditions now that I'm done encouraging myself.

Well, let's see. My bed is super comfy. It's the top bunk, with a little curtain that made me silently scream when I first shut it. It's that feeling you get when you build a living room fort out of couch cushions and sheets, and you get a flashlight and some snacks, and it's the safest place you could ever be (other than in the Sixth Sense). I love that feeling, so every time I experience it, I silently throw a fit, unless of course there is a sickly girl vomiting in front me, at which point I'd throw a very loud fit. But usually silently, because there are room mates that I don't know well twelve inches away from me. Don't want a weird reputation. Or do I? I am a weird guy.

Food is good. Breakfast is at horrid hours, so I usually sleep through it.
Shower's are short, but doable.
Water conservation is a big deal.
ADD is kicking in fast.

I'm thinking about pulling out my new journal. There's this attachment to my old one, and a bit of OCD about finishing it entirely, but I might break the mold and leave the last 12 pages blank. It's holding me back from WRITING, because I keep expecting to write what I used to write, exactly how I used to write. But if I crack out my new journal and start fresh, maybe my bout of writer's block will be broken. I'm going to take a risk. Leave my old journal behind, pray over my new one, ask God for my prayer's to be passionate, freeing, full of truth and honesty. I write, that's how I pray. I can't focus without writing. Learning? Maybe, or it's just my style. I think I'll stop rambling now; I digress.