Chronicles of a Sleepless Boulevard

For all those days and nights of endless thought, musings of today and yesterday and days before that, I keep this journal. I hope every entry inspires you, and moves you closer to Christ.

Journal

fighting fearsSatan is not just some figure in a devil's costume with a pitchfork and horns. He is in every negative thought and every fear, every insult and every instance of hatred. He is fueled by our insecurities and built up by our misery.

But one thing he can't touch: our humbleness.

Plagued by constant anxiety and worry since I could remember (childhood...), I made a realization today that the best way to counter my fears is not to face them headlong with an equal dose of optimism. It's to face them with humbleness, then being satisfied with the way things will be, no matter how uncomfortable it might make me in the process, understanding that God's will is so much more than my own.

Then, like a statue made of cigarette ashes, Satan's power will crumble at the sheer justice of this idea of being humbled by our circumstances. We should not pray for the "best," whatever our definition of best may be, but rather pray for strength for us to follow God's will, whatever His definition of that will may be. We must be grateful for God's works regardless of how much strife His will may contain, taking faith in knowing that His reason is more than our reasons will ever be. Rather than cringing in fear, our job is to accept the way things will be, rain or shine, and take a bold step of faith, pressing on for our Lord and Savior.

Take that, Satan!

rain or shine, still You remainI came to the edge of the riverbed
with my head in my hands, troubled.

The sky got darker and those clouds,
they loomed ahead like devils with beards.

Then You walked up to me, took my cold
fingers away from my face and said,
don't be afraid, trust Me.

But that thunder rang in my ears
and almost drove me mad with fear
so I bowed down to its power.

Then You walked up to me, took my cold
fingers away from my ears and said,
don't be afraid, trust Me.

But that thunder continued and rumbled so loud
the ground beneath me shook and broke into two
so I crawled into a ball and prayed for safety.

Then You walked up to me, took my cold
fingers away from my knees and told me
don't be afraid, trust Me.

But the rain started pouring and I couldn't
feel my fingers anymore and my clothes, my hair
were soaked, my shoes lost in the flood.

Then You walked up to me, took my cold
fingers, put them in your warm hands and said,
don't be afraid, trust Me.

So finally I did and opened my stubborn eyes,
realized all that noise was nonsense,
the thunder a mere recording,
the rain a sprinkling hose.

Only You remain.
The sun is just gleaming through the seams of the window shades, and I'm sitting typing on my bed ravaged by the insomnia of disappointment.

It's hard when we look for unworldly things in the world. We end up with burned hopes and lost possessions in the midst of manipulating means...

I'd rather be an outcast who won't chase after wasted efforts with a trophy in one hand and nobody by my side. I don't think I was brought here to make money or become famous. I think there's more to life than praise from other people and being "number one." I think I've had enough with this ridiculous chase after the capitalistic idea of success, that to be considered a valid member of society we must be working all the time, without any debts, and own so many products that we live with more things in our thoughts than people.

It's enough, don't you think?

I hope that in ten, twenty years, I'll still be idealistic about the world and that regardless of what happens or what doesn't, this doesn't change. The world is far, far from perfect, but I don't think any person can live without any hope in their life, because then, what is there to savor in life if there is nothing good, no hope for things to get better? I'd rather live with a living hope than a dying bitterness.

I'd like to start writing again, not for class, not for a publication, just to enjoy the words on a page. Close the eyes and just hear the pitter-patter of slow fingertips on the keyboard tapping away at vowels and constance sounds. Who made the countries anyway? "We are the countries, not the names of powerful men..." Random rambles of a morning without gray.