My grandson Paul likes to dress up in his 6 year old sister’s clothes, particularly her tutus and tiaras. We hung out with the grandkids last weekend and one afternoon he was cavorting about in flouncy green gymnastics togs, waving his wand and acting princess-like.
“I’m Briar Rose, Nana.”
“Briar Rose, eh? Like in Sleeping Beauty?”
I remark about his short cropped hair and boyish ways, reminding him that playing a prince might be a closer fit, him being a boy and all.
Yes, there is a definite disconnect between the likes of Briar Rose and this little brown haired all-boy four year old in front of me.
They’re miles apart from each other.
Which is kinda how I’ve been feeling about God lately. Disconnected, disjointed.
Part of the dissonance is not being able to ‘hear’ clearly. I’m reading several different books right now–poetry, non fiction, two small volumes on Lent, four different devotionals and of course, my Bible. The only thing I’ve been doing consistently in The Word is memorize the 13 verses in Isaiah 55.
There are other ‘voices’ distracting me via too much screen time–Twitter and Facebook, Everyone Else’s wonderful blogs to read.
I also desperately want some Sabbath time alone-outside-away–anywhere to just be with Jesus, but it is not happening.
In the limited time I have I don’t know where to land or what to focus on, hence, the discontent. Ever been there?
Just this nagging, kinda ‘meh’ ickyness going on inside me, sin slowly sneaking in.
Then Jesus called.
I’d been mulling over the verses we were memorizing in Isaiah about God’s thoughts and ways being so diametrically opposed to ours, completely disconnected from the human measuring sticks that we use:
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