prodigals and wineries.

April 20, 2012

I do like red wine. it’s warm and amazing and complicated and depending on the style, sometimes spicy or peppery or a little bit savoury and the afterglow is wonderful. it takes concentration to drink.

in really small quantities.

lengthy past experience has proved that it takes me roughly three to five hours to down one glass of wine. as I write, there’s a teacup on the table downstairs three-quarters full of pinot noir and that, more than anything, amused me. I clearly haven’t changed much.

I do like complicated flavours. although sometimes wine reminds me of cleaning products. it’s the alcohol, and if I take too many sips in the space of a minute (say, three) I start wondering why I’m drinking this again when it’s so overwhelmingly REALLY STRONG AND REALLY STRANGE FLAVOURS IN YOUR MOUTH. and then I go back to a small sip every ten minutes and remember. Because it’s yum.

 

I’m procrastinating. I need to write a post about God. I am very much procrastinating because God is a difficult person. And thinking about him makes me constantly uncomfortable and unhappy. In a familiar and somewhat comforting manner because it seems like most of my relationship with God consists of me being uncomfortable and unhappy, and I prefer having a relationship with God to not having one at all. Which sometimes strikes me as uneasily similar to being trapped in an abusive relationship.

I know I’m looking at it wrong. I just don’t remember how I’m supposed to see it- kind of like those Magic Eye puzzles where you stare and stare and stare and can’t figure it out at all until someone tells you. But I’ve spent significant amounts of today feeling miserable because I just remembered that I’d forgotten about God again- about who he is and that I belong to him, that I am subject to him in all ways- and while it’s good that I’ve remembered, it’s also bad because I know I deliberately forgot for a reason. God hurts. Thinking about God, being with God, growing into something more like Jesus really, really hurts. I was so sick and so tired of it, the endlessness of it- how it never, ever stops. How I can never, ever rest because everything is another test or another battle or another struggle or another challenge or another way to grow. There is no peace and no silence and no gentleness. Only endless, endless pushing and pushing and stretching and pushing and oh, I’m a lot better than I used to be, I’m not an invalid anymore, I’m so much stronger in my head and in my heart and in my will to live- but still my first instinct when faced with endless vistas of unflinching ouch is to hide. To sleep and to hide and to forget about it and maybe it’ll go away eventually, or I will.

So that’s what I did. That’s what I usually do. And that’s what I’ve been doing, apparently, until I remembered again this afternoon what I’ve been avoiding. And I’m going to avoid it a little bit longer because I’m tired, and thinking about it will only make me more so, and I need to sleep. And sleep’s always been the easy way out.

But I am hopeful that things will change, this thinking-time round, before the next time I run away again. That I’ll see something new, that I’ll believe something a little less wrong and a little more hopeful. I am hopeful of good. God is still, and always, good, even if I never understand what that means.

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