Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai

The day

If Jesus sat at your dining room table tonight with full knowledge of everything you are and are not; if he laid out your whole life story with the hidden agenda and the dark desires unknown even to yourself, it would still be impossible to be saddened in his presence.

—Brennan Manning, A Stranger to Self-Hatred: A Glimpse of Jesus

This is a good day, given to me: my day (off), and maybe, just maybe, the day.

I don't (fully) know what I mean. I simply have a sense, true and deep, that the day is coming, the day when the air is alive, when my skin becomes gooseflesh, when peals of laughter erupt unbidden from the very core of me. The day when it all comes together, when it makes sense, when all the prepared things are set in motion, when veils are stripped away and fear and joy compete for the hearts of men. I've always felt the day might be like this day might be, on the edge of a storm, wind-whipped and cracked by thunder, rain beating down upon my chest.

(I know that doesn't make sense. It doesn't to me, either. It just is. It is in me.)

Watching a man across the street, slightly unkept in a green barn jacket with a leather collar, wandering, fidgeting, gesturing, speaking, stumbling, waving, crying out. He's now at the window, a thin pane of glass between us, our eyes meeting painfully, trying to connect and failing. I feel him. As he keeps moving down the sidewalk and out of my sight, I'm haunted. Is he searching, waiting for the day?

He stumbles back into my vision, and I see him pull a large can of cheap beer from a crumpled plastic bag in his pocket (his other hand holds a cigarette). His pale blue eyes meet mine again for but a moment; he then moves on again, shaking the post of a "No Parking" sign in between asking for money from passersby.

And I am still haunted. Sometimes I know how close the madness lies.

If the day comes, listen for my laughter.

I don't want to be ruled by fearfulness. Romans 8:15 declares the truth of the gospel: "For you didn't receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, 'Abba! Father!'" It is a desperate cry of scandalous intimacy. It is mine.

May my wait be in hope, not fear, holding tightly to Him alone. And may my laughter, when it comes, come only from the abandonment, in trust, to joy.

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