chapped lips.
I've spent a considerable amount of the last two days outside. It's pretty damn cold out. In Canada once the mercury drops low enough it gets too cold for snow. It dipped to minus twenty last night, during my wanderings of town. My lips and cheeks are chapped.
Yesterday at church I sang a song. It was this little hallelujiah chorus that I sing when no one is around and I'm pretty sure only God is listening. I've got the chords and some general stuff that I refer back to but aside from that I just make it up as I go along, and sing whatever is on my mind. So I sat on the floor in the loft of sadlier house and just made it up. It's sort of wierd to think that I'll never sing it the same way again. I never write down songs.
Last night after wandering became too cold I sat in a little pub called the Rusty Snail and read Job until reading by candlelight made my eyes sore. I read maybe twenty chapters of it and the idiotic thing is that I think I understand it less, not more than I did before I started. I wonder vaguely what's changed in me since the first time I read this book, when I was maybe sixteen or seventeen? I finished it then with a sense of awe and wonder, that has remained with me for the subsequent times I've read this book.
Now I read it and I spew doubts and impetuous questions.
So last night I sat with dim light on the thin, worn pages of my bible and pounded God's door down with questions that Job had too much faith to ask
I've spent a considerable amount of the last two days outside. It's pretty damn cold out. In Canada once the mercury drops low enough it gets too cold for snow. It dipped to minus twenty last night, during my wanderings of town. My lips and cheeks are chapped.
Yesterday at church I sang a song. It was this little hallelujiah chorus that I sing when no one is around and I'm pretty sure only God is listening. I've got the chords and some general stuff that I refer back to but aside from that I just make it up as I go along, and sing whatever is on my mind. So I sat on the floor in the loft of sadlier house and just made it up. It's sort of wierd to think that I'll never sing it the same way again. I never write down songs.
Last night after wandering became too cold I sat in a little pub called the Rusty Snail and read Job until reading by candlelight made my eyes sore. I read maybe twenty chapters of it and the idiotic thing is that I think I understand it less, not more than I did before I started. I wonder vaguely what's changed in me since the first time I read this book, when I was maybe sixteen or seventeen? I finished it then with a sense of awe and wonder, that has remained with me for the subsequent times I've read this book.
Now I read it and I spew doubts and impetuous questions.
So last night I sat with dim light on the thin, worn pages of my bible and pounded God's door down with questions that Job had too much faith to ask
...
After launching his complaint against God, and Gods response, Job ends up being floored, saying 2"I know that you can do anything, and no one can stop you. 3You ask, `Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorance?' It is I. And I was talking about things I did not understand, things far too wonderful for me.
And somehow... right now I can't seem to bring myself to say the same.
1 Comments:
deep underwater, below all currents [below the world], the ship is black, with rust in the pipes [and the fire inside is our only light].
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