It’s the blessed curse. I can’t decide if it is one or the other and so have come to the conclusion that it must be both. I am writing – constantly. And constantly I am finding connections and lessons to God in the smallest of ways...through the single word of a song and the unsuspecting and fleeting comment of a friend or the gentle whispers of the beauty surrounding me. Everything I stop to think about for even a second becomes a word, a paragraph, a meaning.
And I despise it. I feel like I am constantly over analyzing every piece of my world. Can I not just see an aloe plant for an aloe plant with not also having to consider – very personally – the difference between surviving and thriving? Or tonight, I was getting ready for bed when my routine landed me with toothpaste in my eye. Never before have I encountered this phenomenon – especially with my glasses still on - nor can I explain exactly how it happened. But the moment my eye began to burn with searing pain – my mind went instantly from “my eye hurts” to “what connection can be made, what truth told, in the telling of this story?” Everything is a story.
And I love it. Despite my irritation, I love the stories. I love the connections I’ve found. The days where God feels the farthest away lately are the days without stories. I love having been taken to a place where I think little of the analyzing I do before I find myself wrapped in the ponderings which bring me closer to my Saviour. I love being able to see God in the little things – and recognize an ability to see Him in things that otherwise have no immediate correlation. For He exists even in those things as well. Oh what a blessed curse.
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