Last Exit Before Oblivion

Last night was one of those that made me glad to see dawn. Dreams of train wrecks and meteor showers. Jesus appeared in one, much more encouraging but too brief, just a flash. Waking was more like extricating myself from tangles of net as grey dawn light seeped in through the windows. Finally enough consciousness assembled itself that I could feel God's hand holding me. Just... holding, bringing peace amid all that chaos.
    Stipulating that being alive is better than being dead, I'm lucky to be here. That's due more to God's efforts than mine; as a life manager, I'm a disaster in a lot of ways. I put my life in a straitjacket and left it there for years. So, writings like this recent series, especially yesterday's about caring, are extremely upsetting. Pulling at the straps of the straitjacket comes at a price: not much sleep. My subconscious comes up with all these images of impending disaster, far from calm. I'm not sure what the purpose is. Prediction isn't reality, and how can I care about anything when the result is the nightly warfare?
    And yet... how can there be life at all without caring? It's all just empty activity without some personal involvement. I've been skirting this for most of my 60 years. When I was 19 it seemed an easy technical problem. At 53 it no longer seemed possible at all, which is when I asked Jesus for help with the mess.
    I expected that caring and freedom would be low-priority items on the list of things that needed doing. I was right, but the fact that other things, such as saving the basic life, are higher priority doesn't mean that freedom's lower priority means it's of no value at all. Freedom only works for the living, and one who is dead is far beyond caring in this world.
    Life is a balancing of many factors. Change upsets the status quo, whatever balance I might have achieved. Is it worth the upset to try for something that might be better? Given all my failures I'd given up on changing for what I thought was better. Jesus really upsets things and the balance becomes more chaotic. He, however, sees the pattern and knows the pathway through it. It's not like a bus ride, though. I don't get onto the bus and go to sleep and wake up in Poughkeepsie. For some reason, he wants me involved in the process. He wants me to care, and he holds me together so that I'm able to care.
    There is much grace involved. Grace and patience. And there is some whimsy, too. This morning's Email brought a friend's voice in readings about cats. Kindness. Thank you.

2012 July 25