Sick of Me...

I’m sick of me.

Undeniably, uncontrollably, incurably sick of me.

I am so caught up in myself – that I no longer recognize it. And when I do it just makes me sick to my stomach. Maybe that’s why the nausea has been so chronic lately. Maybe it’s not delayed digestion. Maybe I’m just full of me.

It’s spring break. I’m having a really hard time with this break. Selfishly bemoaning its pathetic-ness. Riling in the ways the drudgery of obligation seems to be zapping the life out of me instead of restoring the energy I so desperately need. But then, really, that’s just me again...

And it irritates me but it is not the hardest part of break. The hardest part is the inability to reflect on this break with out reflecting also on my last. Spring break a year ago. A year ago when my life was forced to be all about me and so I made it all about Him. Spring break when I spent every free moment on my computer feverishly trying to compile my journals and my notes. My ponderings and my processings...all the places God took me in an insanely short amount of time. “Glimpse” was born out of the intensity to recognize God’s presence. I saw Him in new colors and new hues. He was part of my in and my out. My worship and my reading. My prayers and my breathing. It was Jesus showing up. Never was I more on fire – never was my response more genuine. I eagerly anticipated whatever life would throw at me for the sheer joy of watching for whatever God was going to reveal to me.

What happened? Where has the last 12 months taken me? How have I drifted so far? I went from a faith that was passionate and alive to one that is existent but realistic and cynical. And somewhere I’ve lost the connection. I’ve never tuned out more during a sermon and never can remember ceasing my pathetic attempts at songs of praise out of sheer boredom. I like thinking thoughts about Jesus...but I don’t like spending time with Him. I contemplate Him like an intellectual and have removed the emotion...all the while wishing for it to be the one part that comes through. Begging and pleading to feel something. Anything! I knew there was once a fire but somehow, somewhere, things got cold. And now I’m just numb. If there were a spark...would I notice it at all?

And I get jealous. I get jealous to catch the glimpse of someone whose relationship with Christ looks like something. I have realism and they have what’s real. Blogs where they’ve found Jesus in their day to day living, connected it with a Bible verse...an almost audible spoken word of God, and created another bond between them and their saviour. I can make a devotional. I could sit down and write you something. But I wouldn’t care...not really. I get excited about Jesus, but not with Him. Not like I used to.

It’s not that I don’t pray. I do. With fervor even. If I say I’m praying for you I really am, I really do. It’s not even that I don’t read my Bible. I do that too. Though probably not as often as I should... I don’t doubt God. There is no unbelief seated in His existence or even the relationship He apparently wants to have with me. And I’m not stupid. I know a lot of things. I know the right answers... So all that’s left is apathy. I have effort and knowledge, but I just don’t care. And I know I don’t care. But I want to. I want to care. Yet my attempts to care leave me at stale mate.

Probably because it’s all about me. It’s what I want. What I think I ought to get out of it. It has nothing to do with anything or anyone but me.

I’m sick of me.

Undeniably, uncontrollably, incurably sick of me.