|I don't know.|
My brain feels like it's composed of frightened butterflies. A million things, a million thoughts, none of them stopping long enough to land. I write... and reread... and literally cannot decide whether what I've written is coherent or not. Those two long posts I wrote yesterday? Might be complete bs and I wouldn't know it. Please tell me, will you?
Today was Easter Sunday. You're supposed to dress up for Easter Sunday. Someone said that once, and I couldn't shake the idea this morning. I ended up making a mess of my closet, trying on so many different outfits, all the while thinking, "What a horrible waste. I want to go to CCR, get my coffee, and have quiet time. It's Easter. I want to take time to remember why it's a holiday. And here I am worrying about what I'm wearing." In the end, I finally decided on something that may or may not have actually gone together, but was black and dark purple... not exactly Easter-y. I got to CCR and it was closed for the holiday, so I had to backtrack and get my drink at Starbucks. By the time I sat down, I had only half an hour... and to my horror, never could find wonder at the miracle of a God who died to save me.
It was as though I was a small person standing at a magnificent fortress of stone. I didn't have to tear the whole thing down... I just had to find a gap. A hole big enough to crawl through. Even a peep hole would have held me over... just enough to look inside. But all my clawing did was to scrape off a few little bits of moss that had begun to grow on the surface of the wall.
I've been amazed by God's grace before, but I don't know that I've ever once really tried to conjure it up - consciously and without the aid of music or a sermon, decide to look and be awed. Or if I have, never sincerely enough to get discouraged by my inability. Until today. Today I walked into church feeling like a woman coming home to her husband on their anniversary, unable even to fake an appreciation for the significance of the day.
I ran away to Paris Mountain afterwards. It didn't surprise me that I was unable to do any thinking, but I convinced myself that it would be "good for my soul" to get outside. Or at least for my heart muscle. The prayers that I offered all felt like unfinished sentences, interrupted by more unfinished sentences, interrupted by silence and the heavy breathing that accompanies the exertion required to climb a mountain.
After the walk, I didn't even bother with the unsettledness that had been plaguing me all day. My afternoon was filled with grocery shopping, laundry, putting new sheets on the bed, looking for job opportunities, a few games of Spider Solitaire while watching Good Will Hunting, hence the blog title, and being mildly irritated that I can keep neither my internet nor my mouse connected. I didn't even want to watch a movie, but it seemed like it might distract me enough to get something done. Not that there's anything I want to do, but I feel less guilty when I can tell myself I'm getting something done. Then I pulled up a "New Weblog Entry" and started typing.
It's occurred to me, as I've been composing this text, that it's okay.
It's not the end of my relationship with God just because my brain is dysfunctional. He's forgiven me in the past for not even bothering to TRY to appreciate for myself this celebration... I'm actually improving, in that sense. Maybe. But I think His love superseded my nonchalance: when I walked in the door, I don't think He looked at my blank expression, turned around in a huff, and angrily put away the beautiful dinner He'd prepared in honor of the day. In the midst of my scattered brain and tears and shame, I'm pretty sure we still ate together. I kind of picked at my food and was generally a mess of distraction, but we ate together.
He is risen. And to this day, He is yet living... AND active. He is good.