This is a long, personal entry that has the words "feelings" and "emotions" in it, as well as using several bad analogies, and it does not end happily (though it does end hopefully). Consider yourself warned.
Sometimes I think that “growing up” is a very hazy experience; I remember when learning to ride a bike my balance was always skewed, and now I feel like the physical environment that seemed to shift when I was moving is just like any true insight I ever had about myself (wavers, grows unsteady, becomes meaningless, then rights itself so suddenly that I cannot grasp it). Weird way to describe it, but I can only shrug at my way of expressing myself. Since I stopped reading so voraciously I have lost some of my ability to express anything gracefully (if I ever had it in the first place; now that I have friends who know how to use commas properly I doubt myself even more!).
I have come to the conclusion that I am not so gifted with this whole “real life” thing, too. Yes, I had another interview with no call back. It is a little disheartening but it is nice to know that the wall I’ve been banging my head on for so long is indeed still there. God is apparently not so keen on my job hunting efforts. And it is true that I am useful where I am. But, I say in prayer, through much rambling and phrasing, I would like to know my future, and to see things properly so that I can control them so that they will be safe. How much of me, I ask you, is controlled by that fear?! What kind of a person am I becoming if I let fear conquer my trust in God? Soon he’ll bring me justice--my faith, tho timid, remains.
I remember a time when I sat in my bedroom and felt within me the desire to pray to God to let me die. I wanted it so very much, but I saw myself wanting it and knew that it was wrong to pray for that kind of death, so I sat in my cold and silent room, with God, and I did not ask Him. But I know he knew what I wanted and why I was silent. I felt so brittle and numb... but I knew that that moment would be a defining one for me. George MacDonald’s ‘The Princess and the Goblin’ has a perfect image of this in the fire opal ring that the princess’ great big grandmother gave her--attached to it was a fine string, spun of cobwebs, that if she only followed it would lead her to safety. I have spun cobweb-weight yarn. I know its properties, and what it is like to be working in the darkness with every power of sight and touch focused on following that thin strand to its end. (I probably shouldn’t spin by candlelight no matter how romantic it is, but sometimes there is no other remedy for a troubling day.) It was the same feeling as spinning cobweb-yarn; that thin and listening awareness, a resolute trust, a given promise (or plighted troth, since we are romantics here). That faith and trust in God is a thing in itself, apart from my self and my desires--it exists in me most clearly when there is nothing to distract me but the darkness.
So this whole job thing I’m not sweating too much. I would like to have the approval of the people around me and to be financially independent, but I don’t always get what I want. And I did not do well on my own. And the work I do here is useful to His purposes. Trying to keep my chin up and not just barrel on through with my head down is somewhat of a challenge. This carpe diem is not the way I expected to understand the concept.
In other news, I’ve been reading the books of history in the Old Testament; the bits after the sack of Jerusalem and the exile to Babylon. It makes me grieve every single day. The story of the heartbreak of God is utterly gut-wrenching. I am reminded, too, that though my feelings and emotions are subjective and I am not an all-knowing, all-powerful creator, they are the shadow of something very real and very true--God has emotions like mine. Sometimes I am ashamed that I can too clearly imagine Christ’s bloody suffering on the cross but really have to focus, to sift through images in my head so that I can see him disappointed and hurt.
And just the other day I was knitting a baby sweater. I like to imagine the people I make things for wearing the things I make, so it was a shock to me that I felt a kind of dull unhappiness when I realized the baby I was making the sweater for is not my child. I don’t usually have those feelings. It was extremely unnerving, and I was in a bad mood the rest of the day. What on earth is going on in my brain!?
Back to spinning by candlelight. If I can find my cup of tea in the dimness at my bench, the world will look brighter in the morning.