Walking up my street this evening from the bus stop, I looked up and was met with the lovely sight of the doming night sky.  Stars scattered across in three dimensions as I listened to Kim Walker sing her heart out, and forgot about pretty much anything else.  I quickened my pace as I neared my house, in anticipation of something that I thought would happen: it was the anticipation of meeting with Father God.

I got home, then I put all my stuff down and went to go shower.  In the middle of the nightly ritual cleansing, I found myself talking to the King.  It went something like this:

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[JESUS dons a European-esque kind of robe, and an ornate, plastic crown.  SEAN-JOSEPH approaches, in his mind’s eye, and prostrates himself on one knee, in front of his Lord’s dais.  JESUS nods his head, in acknowledgment of his humble subject, with a playful twinkle in his eye, and as vassal and master make eye contact, they also acknowledge their exaggerated role play of King and subject.]

SEAN-JOSEPH: My Lord! (bowing).

JESUS: Arise, Sean-Joseph.

SEAN-JOSEPH: What would thou have-eth me do-eth, lord?

[They both chuckle at the fact this is happening in a shower.]

JESUS: (puffing his chest) It would bring me great pleasure if thou wouldst go over yonder!

[As JESUS points behind SEAN-JOSEPH, the author elaborately embellishes the divine dialogue by claiming that a whole world is created at the pointing, including a medieval castle, a moat, and a rolling English countryside.  The author is reminded of playing with his toy knights and castle, and Legos, and the lifelong fascination with all things remotely Anglo-Saxon, especially accents.]

SEAN-JOSEPH: Whither art thou sending me, my King?

JESUS: To thither Forbidding Forest!

SEAN-JOSEPH: Surely not the cheap rip-off of the Hogwarts’ Forbidden Forest?

JESUS: That very one!

SEAN-JOSEPH: Where and for what purpose to this forest do I go, Lord?

JESUS: (now slowly, more serious) The place where the children are.  The children without parents.

SEAN-JOSEPH (thinking as he responds): My Lord, where are the parents?

JESUS: They’ve gone away.  Go to the children!

SEAN-JOSEPH: O Sovereign of mine, you know that I escaped at much risk from that area.  Why should you send me back?

JESUS: Bring back the children!

FIN

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So now, reality hits and I feel like going into mentoring in youth ministry.  Leaving the castle, past the moat, over the bridge into the fields, past the pleasant glades, into the wild, winding forest. 

I learned to laugh more.  I don’t need everything I say or do or think to be that profound…or I’ll end up forcing stuff out.  More natural to me is silliness…more natural to me is the divine joy I am marked with as a child of our Jolly King.

make you happy all the time.

I can’t

make me happy half the time.

I can’t let go, all my memories,

my heart-notes

of demands that gloat over me,

pressures of the work, the study, the thoughts

that

(I automatically presume)

So blackishly fume

from the others (though it’s me demanding most of the time).

I’m incapable of maintaining my own brand of perfection,

Don’t always express brotherly affection (or correction),

Maintain half-hearted simultaneous isolation & connection

By what I can’t express, by my words.

my music.

my actions.

But what I can do,

the pen-ultimate do of all doing I can truly, to the end, see thoroughly through

is surrender:

Surrender my I can’t-s,

Surrender my non-control-s,

Surrender my half-assed, this is my drama I’m writing/starring/producing defense mechanism mask of a role:

In my words, in my music, in my actions,

In my imperfect I can’t-s,

I find wondrous room for others’ I can’s.

But more than that, I miss Your face, God, in the unity of your children, gathered in the middle of nowhere, strictly to spend time with you.

never stop writing!

Be wary of what those around you worship.  Tear down empty idols, before you become like them.