 My heart is heavy this morning. I can't pin it down, though. Maybe it's because I had trouble sleeping; racked by a couple of really horrible dreams that kept me awake. Perhaps my brain is trying to make sense of some things that are going on in my life. It could be the sermon on Sunday. During which I realized there is no middle ground with God. There is also a possibility that my heart is heavy because of the headlines I read just moments ago.
'US strikes Islamic State in Syria.' I wonder if any of this is an attempt to help the innocent people of the region? But then, the logical part of me thinks that war is never waged for the innocent, right? I understand that President Obama will speak soon about the offensive. This might be worth paying attention to. I don't know. Something about this situation feels very wrong to me. It has for a while now. Well, since ISIS took the spotlight anyway. Again, I can't pin it down, but my heart is heavy like stone this morning. My stomach is in knots and the bags under my eyes are dark. So, I can't assume it's all because of a headline. My dream though, if you were wondering, was about war. War all over the world. I watched as my loved ones were consumed by fire and I was given a choice to participate in war, or die. I woke up as the cold steel blade sliced my neck. I guess I don't know what to make of it.
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 My heart is broken. In the wake of recent tragedy in my life I have realized that I can hear the music in my soul. I hear it out loud and at all times. Sometimes it's so loud it just feels like pressure in my head. Other times it is as quiet as a whisper in the wind. But it's always there. What have I done to have lost the ability to hear this beautiful composition for so long? Was it any of my few questionable life decisions I have made? Was it because I gave up playing music, or writing, or acting, or any of the things I was so enamored of but just quit doing? Or is it because I'm lost on my spiritual path in my walk with God? I'm almost certain it's the latter.
When my dad passed I did the only thing I could do. I prayed. I prayed hard. Some of you can really connect with what it means to pray hard. I haven't prayed like that since I was 16 years old. Some may ask, why then? What good was praying for a man's soul that had already passed? Turns out I wasn't praying for my dad's soul. I was praying for mine. And an internal peace is what was answered. Ask me how I know my prayers were heard. Every time the leaves rustle against my front door I hear the symphony rise, and when I lay down at night the soloist begins my lullaby. My heart is filled with music, my mind is filled with stories and words, and my eyes are filled with brilliant color. I feel creative. I know that Dad only ever wanted me to be happy with what I was creating. He was so very proud of everything any of his kids did. I hope those siblings of mine read this and know, Dad was your #1 fan too. So, have a conversation with God, and listen to the music. |
AuthorI started blogging thinking that this is where I would review whatever media I felt like ranting about. It quickly changed direction. So this is my online diary. Comments are welcome. Archives
May 2024
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