Ill with not-want

Maybe I just need to come to terms with the idea that I am a late bloomer. I don’t know what I want yet. Maybe it’s true that a man will work hard for what he wants… and the reason I am so lazy is that I haven’t found what I want to work hard for yet. Maybe if, or when, I find what (or who?) I want I will kick it into gear, work my ass off and go get it (or her?).

Or maybe a large part of life is coming to terms with dissatisfaction. I don’t want God enough yet, but I think he is really mostly what I want. In many ways, being satisfied in this world would seem like a born lover feeling complete fulfillment in a life of love letters, of staring at old, grainy pictures of his beloved.

Or maybe I just need to grow up.

( I am really just waiting for the chance to say: “I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now.”)

I was running up a steep hill today and the words “Come higher up and further in!” ran through my head over and over. It helped.

I get the impression that most important stories end at the top of a hill. I was wondering today if Jesus calls us to pace ourselves as we run or if we are meant to sprint idiotically from the start. Are we pragmatic runners or ultra-freaks? I don’t know the answer to this question. But I think in a lot of ways I approach my spiritual walking like I do my physical running: that is, I prod around to find my limits and then I stay, for the most part, comfortably within them. If we were to sprint from the bottom of the hill, with miles to go and no end in sight, would we find that our hearts could handle the extra load? Would the speed exhilarate us? Would there be a supernatural breath, or spirit, to fill our burning lungs, to lighten our leaden legs?

I just finished The Chronicles of Narnia for perhaps the fourth or fifth time since my parents bought them for me in middle school. I’ve decided that I won’t read them again until I read them to my child(ren)… I was kind of sad to finish The Final Battle. They are so good.

Ryan brought back my box-set from San Diego this weekend. I just spent about fifteen minutes trying to tape up the broken and torn spines of the books, just so they might last until I actually have a family… Maybe my hope in doing so is that one day little Justin will be perusing a shelf of half-destroyed books and find a taped up set of books by C.S. Lewis. He’ll wonder why this particular set has received special attention, why his father would go through the trouble of preserving seven books when all the rest of the things in the house are in such regrettable states of disrepair. He’ll then ask me questions to investigate, and eventually ask me to read them to him. With a twinkle in my eye we’ll crack The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (because we will of course read them in publishing order). He’ll wonder why his father is crying when Aslan dies, and who Aslan is supposed to be in our world when he repeatedly tells the children that they will know him by a different name…

At this point I’m not really sure what my course of action will be. I wonder if it would be better for little Justin to figure it out for himself. This will probably not take very long at all, since he will inherit incredible mental prowess and deductive ability from his father (and I guess, maybe, his mother too). All this is to say that: Son, if you are reading this, you BETTER BE INTO READING BOOKS… and good at sports too.


~ by justinhong on July 1, 2012.

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