Fractured TimeZone

It’s good to be uncomfortable. It’s  honest to be uneasy. It’s dangerous to stand on the edge of a waterfall. It’s exclusive to walk alone. It’s decent to be stable. It’s good to be comfortable.

“Don’t live in fear”, she said sternly as I examined my shoes. Turns out I wore my socks inside out that day. What a foreshadowing that was, and who would have known? No one except me, and usually not me either. That day was a war barely beginning. I could hear the missiles and gunshots all around, and yet I was standing on the damp green ground. And wet from what? I asked myself. If I hadn’t been standing in the middle of small-town Oregon where violence (in comparison to other places) was seldom, I’d have said it was wet with blood; The blood of every person who fell asleep too soon.

I could write a story that every one of you could understand, but I’ve never operated quite like that. So what if I was wearing my socks inside out that day? My hair was up too. I had a flannel on too, in mid-November with November steady on my breath. What does that mean to you? It means next to nothing because you are not I, same as I am not you.

It was about 14 years ago that I woke up understanding I was alone. I was in my bedroom and it was dark. I couldn’t hear feet roaming the house. I couldn’t see shadows, or my hands, or really anything.

It was about 3 years ago that I woke up understanding that I wasn’t alone. I was in my car and it was dark. All I could hear was rain. I could barely see shadows, or my hands, or really anything.

Those who are sleeping wander the earth wondering about time.

They ponder its depths.

They study its mass.

They weigh its worth.

Those who are awake function through it understanding that time alone means nothing without life, so they study life instead.

Those who travel with their eyes wide open –  be it down the road or across the world – keep their mind set on something bigger. They function through time understanding that time alone means nothing apart from life and that studying life means nothing apart from knowing God.

For how can a person know the mind of one they do not know?

The real glory lies in giving glory back to God. We can claim beauty, but that doesn’t make it ours. You can claim a signature without writing it, and in the end, the person whose signature you tried to claim will see that it belongs to them and not to you. Where is truth in that? Is it not the one whose signature was claimed who was wronged?

Understand that you will never fully understand because you did not create all of what you long to know.

Glory belongs to God, and only He understands fully why my socks were inside out that day, why my hair was tied up in a bun, and why I had a flannel on in mid-November. Only He knows the poem that came from my breath, and only He can recite it as if it was His own because I am His own.


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