Eternal Joy

The pressure slams itself against the seems, weakening their hold
The body wells up with joy that builds and builds and builds…
How long can it stay in?
How long can it be contained?
One stitch snaps apart letting forth a small trickle
The body strains to hold it in, but the fountain continues inside
The slow stream of joy yearns to grow, yearns to be boundlessly set free
Another suture breaks
And now another
Soon this joy has grown from a small creek to gushing river
Stitches break left and right, as the body is bursting at all seems
How can this joy endlessly flow?
How can it have a never-ending source?
Oh, but this well spills forth living water
An eternal spring
Endless joy from an endless love
And our joy reaches all
Covers all
And shares His love

A Dead Season

I interned at a Christian college for the summer. Most of the people I worked with and those on my student staff had amazing hearts for God. They openly shared their walk with Christ; who has influenced them, where they think He is taking them, and struggles they are currently battling. I was also able to engage in conversation about how I came to know Christ, how I try to see the world through Christ's eyes, and even mentored someone close to me about grace and its limitless boundaries. But still, this summer has been a dead season.

I've not read my bible in a couple months. Not legitimately. Sure it's been cracked open while at church, where I sat with a closed heart.

I pray, but it's been the usual stale prayers that have been recited for years..."Thank you God for this food you've provided me..." "Please watch over so-and-so while they do such-and-such..." "God, please give me patience as I wait for the woman you're preparing me for..." No heart in these prayers. No desperation. No desire. No longing. Is there any belief in them?

My Internet struggles continue. I care less, and less, and less. Every battle won equals ten thousand lost. When will it end?

Do not be deceived, Wormwood, I still believe. Oh, yes, I believe. There is a God. His Son died for my sins. And the Holy Spirit exists in me. Where is it, though? Has Satan tempered me through apathy and routine, thus blocking it out? Have I been feeding the Holy Spirit too much lip-service and not enough genuine, heartfelt need.

I feel dead in my faith. Am I not to just die to myself? Die to my longings? My greed? More music, more DVDs, more books, more clothes, more, more, more, more... Die to my lust? Filthy, staining lust...

I want to pick up my cross daily, but it weighs two tons. Or is it two pounds? Am I that weak? Or is it that I've misplaced my cross? Have I left it under the bed? Out of sight, out of mind.

When will this become real again? When will God wipe my tears and tell me everything is okay? Is everything okay?