It’s like we’re little more than drifting along on still and cold waters. The kind of scene one imagines after the Titanic has gone to the bottom. It’s now mostly still, only muffled cries and groans can be heard from the dying all around us.

As we survivors in lifeboat 14 gently pull against the oars, there is a constant urge to turn back, or to just let the oars drop from our hands…but instead we move forward…following the simple, almost instinctual impulse to direct number 14 toward the sound of the cries.

Some clamor toward the boat when they see it. Some don’t have the strength to move at all…they stare blankly into our faces as we drift into view. Some are panicky, some resigned, some mourning the loss of a child or a spouse only moments ago.

All of them matter.

I am cold and weary. I am only a survivor myself. My God, I nearly died myself just an hour ago…what am I doing here….why do they look at me like I know what to do?! I am horrified by the sudden urge to push them away with the end of my oar…or to push the un-grateful ones already in the boat out…making room for the ones I feel are more worthy to live. Oh my God…I’m not qualified for this.

God – please give me a heart for ALL of your people.

______________________________________________________________________________

I have been remarkably immature, and have thought myself to be mature the entire time. I’ve been playing house. Wearing dad’s big shoes and oversized suit jacket with a tie loosely dangling around my neck…a hat dangling down over my eyes and scuffing along the kitchen floor dragging his giant brief case behind me. How cute.

I guess it would be cute if I wasn’t ACTUALLY thinking I was grown up all along. It’s really kind of sad, and not very cute. It’s a little disturbing – like a Trent Reznor video.

All along I thought I was living like a spiritually mature person, just because I had made some progress with my insecurities back in 96/97 or so.  I thought I had arrived somewhere because what people thought of me mattered less than it did before. And that’s true…it did…it does. But what I thought was YEARS of maturity was only just a moment. The first seconds of consciousness.

“Look Mommy I went poopy in the toilet like a big boy…can I have a car now!?”

I have been clinging to the “popular” crowd at AC3 like a dying man clings to a life ring. I finally got what I always wanted – I’m “in”. Being “in” is my Isaac, and Lord I’m hearing you call me to Moriah once again. Help me please to understand what that looks like…I acknowledge that it will be an on-going sacrifice…it will not be a “one time trip” but an on-going trip back and forth…multiple sacrifices per day.

Help me to balance this journey with Brenda’s. This will have an impact on her somehow. Please show me how to carry out my own sacrifices without forcing any upon her…

Please forgive me for my stubbornness and lack of faith in you, Lord.