I usually feel defeated before I even start writing something, because I always want to write about nothing. Rather, I want to reveal the nothing in my own writing. The seeming problem is that I don’t have anything significant to say, because God took all the significance we can ever come to know and had it written down for us to read. I can copy verses or even make certain applications of verses, but I’m still not really saying anything myself. Most of the time, I don’t even understand the significance of what’s significant. I am a seeker, and it seems a rare occurrence I can truly call myself a finder. I’m re-reading Blue Like Jazz and Don Miller hits on a lot of those, “oh wow, if only I had been exposed to this before,” sentiments, and I am partially grateful for having to reconsider the things I considered once before as a freshman at college… a totally different me.

My chest gets tight a lot lately, and my first thought is always, “God, is that you? What do you want?” I’ve never really experienced this frequency of chest-tightening before. Perhaps it’s an anxiety disorder, but I think it’s my life and the emphasis I am putting on the “my.” I was asked by my interviewer yesterday what I would want to get out of a summer at camp. I considered the question for a while, because my immediate thought was, “Do I really even want to have an answer to this question?” I realized the only truthful answer is that I want to understand God better in the sense of also realizing how much I can never possibly understand in this life. That’s the only way I can think to build faith. The I and the me are so selfish that I simultaneously need them shoved down as I’m discovering more and more the skyscraping qualities of God. Otherwise, I include myself in the mix. My discoveries about God are simply that: my discoveries. Thus the perpetual stuck and the always wanting and the never having.

I just feel stupid writing any of this down, even though I don’t know how to keep it inside. In my constant longing to dig and dig and dig and dig until I finally reach the tip of the root – a root I have never *seen* but *know* is there – I can’t help but feel like I keep tripping myself up with my own tactics of getting there. If the Bible is my shovel and prayer my radar, perhaps I should focus more on using these tools more proficiently.

Analogies are weird.

With that, I’m off to skip class and eat dinner with Katie Titus. Those are my thoughts, and I’m heading out now knowing how limited they are. Nonetheless, I am encouraged by knowing (because God said) that God’s thoughts and God’s ways are far greater, and I hope that you are, too. If nothing else, God is still God. Be encouraged.