Fragile

Can't believe it's midnight. Today definitely went by too fast. I remember waking up for church, baptism class, Eagles vs. Falcons, crazy interception, library, essay work, exceedingly salted spaghetti, an interesting subject of conversation, finishing an outline for a nearly impossible research paper, and now: a slightly fatigued, debilitated Satchell, inspecting the internet for a new (and almost unneeded) computer for more intense graphics animation. I've closed all of my sinful browser tabs. I will refuse to allow the temptation to take control. Friday I had a plan of finishing my Graphic Design History research paper, but somehow as every hour diminishes, before my eyes lays an even more attractive "all-nighter" the day prior. At this point I have completed an outline and It seems achievable. Plus, I'm always reluctant to rebuke when it comes to schoolwork. It is more often unhealthy to stress over such things that hold so much weight. Sounds ironic and almost nonsensical, but it has made life that much more bearable. Honey, look! An art major is dictating how real undergrad students should view their schoolwork!

In search of a light distraction, I accepted Marcos' invitation over to his house to eat dinner with Grace. I had already indulged in some General Tso's (as all Americans should) and I figured why not double-dip in some gluttony if it is free? Somewhere in the middle of dinner, Grace had a number of God-centered questions about community and ministry; these were questions that I was definitely glad that she shared. Primarily because I thought I was the only one who thought them. I won't record the subjects we discussed as to refrain from going down an odd thought tangent or overcontemplating. As a combined result of my conversational rustyness and racing thoughts, I responded to her questions and concerns in a jumbled, idea-collaged, unbiblical manner. I reported how I felt about Christian community without properly thinking about where I was going or what damage I could be doing. Giving it some consideration, I don't think I spoke blasphemy, but as my lips flapped I felt a familiar feeling to myself that I typically did a number of years ago: "What am I talking about?"

I've recognized the freedom in surrendering all of my thoughts, expressions, and advice to scripture. I believe in stating how one feels, but I have seen the damage that falsely sculpted ideas can do. Even in the light of the purest heart. People around me bend and over-spiritualize the truth so often and one really has to be careful. I pay very close attention to this and will even cancel an arranged bible study if I feel like I could find a sliver of venom in my teaching. I'd rather not take pride in my own thoughts, but have my words point upwards and I'm still figuring out what that looks like. I pray that I could and that my carefulness surrounding not tipping the vase over won't turn into an entire fear of the pedestal on which it sits. God uses and inspires us and if a vase is filled with Living Water then we better damn pour it.