Living in Confessions

I worshiped alone tonight in my apartment for the first time in a long time. It was weird to BE. To just sing. Alone with God. I didn't feel like being alone OR by myself. I think that’s a big reason why I seem to drift from this practice. Not so much looking to avoid God, well maybe some, but mostly myself. It's uncomfortable. And crap always seems to come up. You get still and it's like you can't hide behind any noise, company, tasks. I don't like the nothingness. I don't wanna think or wrestle. I'm sick of tension. In the stillness, there is nothing but a mirror. Oh the lengths we will go to avoid the mirror or to cover up what we really see.

Just me with me. God with me. Real relationship and life is exposed here. This is where things are really at become clear—NOT where I wanna be or where I've been—just reality hits. Where I really am, in all things and areas. Ew. I don't always wanna see reality, it sucks a lot of this time—especially when being looked at through a distorted and sinful lens. Ungrateful and discontent gazes always leave me more anxious.

I love it and I hate it, getting in touch with reality. Wisdom in me craves to be reconnected to it, and the ignorance of my obsession with sin wants to be a perpetual blissful victim. There are just too many emotions for me to ponder or capture—I’m just a ball of feels, a constipated artist. I hate confronting this. It's a overwhelming place that always causes me to break.

Breaking hurts, but hurts so good. Unfortunately, sometimes it takes a while. Bending under the weight of His divine nature and presence isn't always pleasant. My flesh screams and my spirit rejoices as I'm brought inline with Him.

I'm always looking for a takeaway. A song or a revelation of some kind, something that puts me at ease and at rest so I can avoid this nitty gritty work again for a while. Ha! My rebel and lazy heart... God is sure patient.

I didn't really walk away with anything today. Just scribbles that show I was striving. Anxious even. Straining in the discomfort of being seen, fully known, fully loved - by a God I can't see and wants nothing in return. He expects nothing. He just wants me. He'll have me.

With no expectations to be loved back, God sat with me and loved me. That's crazy, still. The Gospel is wild. He does not come to us to be loved by us, like some needy deity, but He comes to love. To give to us, not looking to take, though He generously takes our sin. He held no outcome obligation over me, and I don't like it. I want an outcome, I wanna feel like I'm earning His company. I wanna bleed something for Him, but He did all the bleeding for me. He will use my sorrow and moments of anguish for His glory and my good, but it no more helps me attain my salvation, His familial company, than me attempting to hang on the cross in His place. I wanna feel like I have something of worth to offer and contribute to what He has freely given. Finished.

But He just comes and sits and loves. And here I am continually getting frustrated with grace and the fact that I have nothing new or cool to show him or give him.

And I re-realize: it's all Him. Here I am itching to grab onto something creative and have some creativity spring out of me—so distracted by my own disappointment. I miss the Creator, the most beautiful thing. The very source of my desire, sitting right in front of me.

Man, oh man, I need saving from this flesh prison in my mind. I need peace that can't come from me. I need Jesus to be near me. I'm glad He is, regardless if I'm acknowledging Him or not.

It's humbling to be living Confessions while confessions is being made.