The wind is slapping your face like an angry mother pursuing her child. You’re heart is beating like synchronize steel drums. You, my friend, are on a travel high.
Like a vine, you weave in and out of tight corners and cramped spaces, but you keep traveling forward, leaving behind trails of squiggly art. Everyone knows you’ve been here. You’ve touched this place.
Soon, the sights you’ve been traveling past, that used to zoom by like blurred Picasso’s, start to make out actual images.
You realize that you are slowing down.
Strange, you think to yourself yourself. You don’t recall hitting the breaks. After all, your way of life is forward. So tell me, friend, how does it feel to come to a slow, creeping, and very complete stop?
Oh, how I have fallen from the top of my mountain and landed here; in a small apartment in Miami with no job, no true community, and no assurance (yet) from the doctors that my mother’s cancer will be cured.
Writing this blog is painful in and of itself. I had been too busy studying at Princeton Seminary, working my three jobs, and writing my “important” theological papers. I had no time for “common” activities like blog writing. Now I have too much time, but for how long?
Jesus, everyone has a blog.
I am just a writer. I project my thoughts about my experiences and hope to meet another soul who is wandering a similar path. It would be ignorant of me to define your viewership and reading of this post and assume it is because we are the same.
The only redemptive thought about all of this is that darn stubborn vine seems to have stopped right on it’s tracks, but doesn’t seem to have been severed; whatever that means.
Has the “Pause” button landed on your head this morning?