Tuesday, November 07, 2006
What I Feel
What I feel is more like a thread. It goes to something inside me, and it's always there. Sometimes more strongly, sometimes barely perceptible, but always there. Sometimes it's a source of guidance, in that I feel a twinge as if the string were struck, which I take as a signal that I need to look again at what I'm doing or thinking. This is a source of confidence for me. I don't know if I could face life without knowing that God is connected to my heart.
Sometimes God is more effusive. There have been times when I've felt I was in the middle of a rain of blessing. Sometimes I feel his laughter.
More often His presence is a kind of thought-exchange conversation, rapidly moving. He keeps me from falling into my usual ruts.
Most of the time, though, His presence is indicated just by that thread tied onto something deep in me. This is, I think, why He has been so careful to keep me from judging myself. The thread is a kind of "still, small voice" that could be easily missed if I weren't sensitive. I find that alcohol pretty much deadens the feeling. Being busy certainly doesn't help, but it doesn't blank things out the way alcohol does.
Sensitivity has always been a problem for me. Much of modern life--the noise, the bustle, the distractions--just plain irritates me. I need quiet. I need some distance. When I was a child everyone told me I was too sensitive. I could see a choice: become like the clods I went to school with, or preserve something that I felt was valuable. I chose the latter, and became a loner.
So, now I know what sensitivity is for. It's still hard to live with.