Friday, June 23, 2006
Why Not Happiness?
More night sweats. This time with some excitement, which has never been safe. Damp it. Nothing more attractive to those who criticize than someone who's flying. Every anti-aircraft battery in the area tracks the happy one and the first one to score gets more points. Blam! Down you go, in flames.
Can't win for losing. If you cry, they say "Stop crying or I'll give you something to really cry about." If you're happy, "You need to be taken down a peg." How dare anyone try to climb out of the mud? Be just like everyone else. No one deserves any more.
Well, I don't deserve a thing. That I have life is due to being forgiven.
A pink monkey doesn't live long in the land of brown monkeys. He can wear a brown-monkey suit, but this has side effects: performance leads belief. Pretty soon the pink monkey becomes a brown monkey... and is angry at the whole world because something constantly irritates him.
Yet it's not safe to be a pink monkey. Jesus was the paradigm case of the pink monkey, and his life wasn't safe at all. He went on, being Himself despite the anti-aircraft batteries around him. Can I attain to that kind of strength? I don't know. I've learned to fly low so that when the ack-ack hits I don't have far to fall.
But the brown-monkey suit dictates. Even when no one else is shooting at me I still force myself down. Keeps the temptation under control. Better to stay down than to be shot down. Sort of a belief in constant irritation being better than some flight that leads to being shot down.
What armors the soul against the flak? I don't know. Never needed to know because of my low-level lifestyle. Stay out of the sights, you don't need to figure out the armor.
So, God holds me on his hand and invites me to fly. Go. Out there. Native ebullience in natural expression. The take-off run reminds me of an overloaded 737 on a hot day: pounding along the ground trying to find lift in the thin air. The Pilot has faith that I lack. He just keeps adding to the runway. Some excitement stirs in me but I sense the attackers ranged around. No "junkyard dog" type attack, just the constant presence of a stone on top of me.
Forced happy behavior is no more honest than forced service. I've quit trying. I don't really know where the balance is for this, either. A life spent in search of happiness probably won't find anything, but how would I know? Guessing. It's what I've been told. More brown-monkey belief.
A Berean won't take the brown monkeys at their word, even when they agree with his own psychologic biases. God supports the Berean: Why does it have to be this way?
Well, it doesn't. Forgiveness, love, encouragement and eventually, glacially, the soul begins to move more strongly. What was once prostrate, mired, flexes muscles in a new way and takes a step.
Morning comes. Might as well. Sleep is long since gone.
Can't win for losing. If you cry, they say "Stop crying or I'll give you something to really cry about." If you're happy, "You need to be taken down a peg." How dare anyone try to climb out of the mud? Be just like everyone else. No one deserves any more.
Well, I don't deserve a thing. That I have life is due to being forgiven.
A pink monkey doesn't live long in the land of brown monkeys. He can wear a brown-monkey suit, but this has side effects: performance leads belief. Pretty soon the pink monkey becomes a brown monkey... and is angry at the whole world because something constantly irritates him.
Yet it's not safe to be a pink monkey. Jesus was the paradigm case of the pink monkey, and his life wasn't safe at all. He went on, being Himself despite the anti-aircraft batteries around him. Can I attain to that kind of strength? I don't know. I've learned to fly low so that when the ack-ack hits I don't have far to fall.
But the brown-monkey suit dictates. Even when no one else is shooting at me I still force myself down. Keeps the temptation under control. Better to stay down than to be shot down. Sort of a belief in constant irritation being better than some flight that leads to being shot down.
What armors the soul against the flak? I don't know. Never needed to know because of my low-level lifestyle. Stay out of the sights, you don't need to figure out the armor.
So, God holds me on his hand and invites me to fly. Go. Out there. Native ebullience in natural expression. The take-off run reminds me of an overloaded 737 on a hot day: pounding along the ground trying to find lift in the thin air. The Pilot has faith that I lack. He just keeps adding to the runway. Some excitement stirs in me but I sense the attackers ranged around. No "junkyard dog" type attack, just the constant presence of a stone on top of me.
Forced happy behavior is no more honest than forced service. I've quit trying. I don't really know where the balance is for this, either. A life spent in search of happiness probably won't find anything, but how would I know? Guessing. It's what I've been told. More brown-monkey belief.
A Berean won't take the brown monkeys at their word, even when they agree with his own psychologic biases. God supports the Berean: Why does it have to be this way?
Well, it doesn't. Forgiveness, love, encouragement and eventually, glacially, the soul begins to move more strongly. What was once prostrate, mired, flexes muscles in a new way and takes a step.
Morning comes. Might as well. Sleep is long since gone.
# posted by Larry @ 09:35 
Comments:
<< Home
Both of these powerful stuff Larry...both of them spoke to me today.....truth is alot of the times your writing does.....
Post a Comment
<< Home
