Saturday, April 16, 2016

into whom all my longing will not go

Faith is a discipline of memory and hope
--Christian Wiman

It is so easy to lose the sense of God's desperateness for us.

Sam speaks of monotony.
It sounds like he is afraid of it.
I am not afraid of monotony.
Because I don't know if I've ever seen it.

I look out my window, and I see an entire changing world.
It spins so fast, I can barely take it all in as it rushes by.
This world of spinning planets, speeding trains, and small families walking past my window will never offer me monotony.
Eternity might offer me monotony.
But not this world.

I look out my window, and sunlight streams in with a blinding white light,
lighting up the entire room.
Some days, though, the light slants through the blinds with a golden haze, and it gilds all the dust specks.
The sun drops low in the sky, behind the old buildings. It is a dusty gold today.
Other afternoons, it shines beautifully and hits a low-hanging cloud with a dark mauve and a peach glow.
It falls behind the Manhattan skyline, and it lights up the sky with a serene blue.
The lights of the apartment buildings shine like warm fires against the cool night sky.
 Like Monet's Water lilies, the Harlem sunrise constantly surprises me with its new shades of gold and new gilded horizons.

I see all of this from my window.
Even from two stories up, I can feel the rumble of the trains in the foundations of the city. I can hear the rattle of the train on the tracks, I hear the metallic whir of sirens and the honking of taxis.
A dog is walking his owner below. I see the fluffy dog trying to look ferocious and intimidating. That walking shag carpet is the descendant of wolves. He still thinks he is a wolf. He looks like a stuffed teddy bear. But he acts like a predator of small dogs, not realizing that he is a comparatively small one himself.

There is always something different. And I can never capture the colors in words quickly enough to remember every single moment.
All these precious breaths leave our lungs each day, and we could spend all of our lives trying to track them and never be able to hold onto them all.

No, I have certainly not yet found monotony in human activity.
Not even in the routine of running, eating, working, and sleeping to which each day could perhaps be reduced. This skeleton semblance of routine is just a thin thread in the crazy quilt I'm lost it.

Each day seems to be bursting with this vibrant variety.
And to think that for millions of years the earth has turned, and the sky has spun, each day has been filled with such a multitude of activity, far beyond my capability to imagine. I am desperate to witness it all, to see all of history spinning out in a vast expanse of designed chaos. Can you just imagine how breath-taking that would be? To witness all the pieces of story that are puzzling together right now, at this moment, all across the globe?

It is so easy to lose the sense of God's desperateness for us.

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