Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai
banzai

  • Mood:

Further up and further in

The moon is just a crescent sliver above the horizon, pointy and sharp. Group in an hour; precious time without voices until then. Sometimes (like tonight) someone will call to see if I'm going to dinner beforehand; I always turn them down. I usually don't even know if I'm going to have dinner. Today I had two lunch appointments, so another meal was out of the question.

My iBook continues to be a perfect new electronic companion companion. Small was definitely the way to go.

Staying home tomorrow. Turns out I ran out of checks to print at the office, so I had to order a new batch which will arrive Friday. That means I need to be at the office then, which means my usual day off is gone, which means I'm taking it tomorrow instead. Also pushes payday back a day, which is a bummer for my bank account. We'll both be fine, though.

Already looking forward to Sunday. The sermon will again be concerning Mary—how her cousin Elizabeth preached the gospel to her, the same message she heard from Gabriel, and how hearing this caused her to burst into wondrous song. No matter how God speaks to us, we also need others to remind us of who He is and what He's promised. There's power in that—in Mary's case, a power even beyond a face-to-face meeting with an archangel.

I'm also moved by the upcoming Sunday's corporate confession, about all the places we turn instead of to Him, even amid our Christmastime rhetoric.
Father in heaven, we have come here today to gaze upon Jesus Christ and adore Him.
We want to adore Him.
Yet we confess that we have not.

We have adored other things.
We have gazed upon success, money, power, and our bodies.
We spend days and months and years adoring them.
We think they can provide us the key to life.
But in the end, they leave us hollow.

Some of us here know all about Jesus.
We know all the stories.
We know all the doctrines.
We work hard at being faithful and obedient.
Yet we do not adore Him.
We do not gaze upon Him and allow His sacrificial love for us to pierce us.

So, Father, our problem runs deep.
It runs to our very core.
Forgive us for our false adoring.
And redirect our hearts to Your Son.


Nothing feels right, but I'm going on anyway. Life is often contradiction and tension, and I don't want my unsettledness to steal my joy. There's no sense losing what I have or might have because of what I don't. Besides, I really want to feel this as a call to prayer rather than something to run away from. Like most, I'm heavily prone to distraction. It happens, but it's no way to live. Let me respond to what's going on in my life, comfortable and uncomfortable alike, faithfully—as if my Abba really does delight in me, as if Jesus really is my first love. Further up and further in.
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