Stumbling

I want to write something right now, but I don't know what, and I don't know how.  I'm plunging through new depths of liminality these days, incapable of holding fast to more and more things I had relied upon, taken for granted.  We can build things of a sort, and maybe they're pretty stable, but as long as we can build them, they're not necessarily permanent, because we're far from perfect and the fallen world is tending toward fragmentation.

I wish I wasn't so right about all of this, I wish there were exceptions.  But there aren't.

God's it.  All of it.  The only one, the only thing, the only foundation we can stand on, the only thing we can cling to when life's winds pick up and threaten to blow all apart all we've built.

Inside his will though, upon the rock of his word on which we can stand, he gives peace, joy, hope, love.  It's not just a clinging in hard times.  It's a standing firm and high, higher than we ever could on our own.

This fallen world wants to fragment, and our fallen selves want to do that to, to follow our own lead, to fragment with it.  It's natural, but it isn't right.  He wants to give us so much more, but far too often we seek to build elsewhere, to stray from the foundation He is and create on our own.

I never thought these abstract forms would become so real in my own family.  But here we are, and until we get back on the rock, decenter all else and recenter on Christ, truly, there is no hope, because there was never supposed to be hope apart from Christ.

That sounds like bad news, until you reverse it; in Christ there is great, more than supernatural hope.  Hope placed elsewhere is little more than fanciful wishing, but hope placed in Christ is a promise that he will never let go.

-Zack

"Tell me why you lie, and what it is you do to keep your eyes so shiny"
-The Decembrists