In our case, our cry is often dictated by unbelief; in His case, it was the utterance of a dreadful fact, for God had really turned away from Him for a season. O thou poor, distressed soul, who once lived in the sunshine of God's face, but art now in darkness, remember that He has not really forsaken thee. God in the clouds is as much our God as when He shines forth in all the lustre of His grace; but since even the thought that He has forsaken us gives us agony, what must the woe of the Saviour have been when He exclaimed, "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"
—Charles Haddon Spurgeon, Morning and Evening (16 April, Morning: "He Was Forsaken")
No wireless access for my laptop here at Irwin's this morning, which isn't a terrible thing. Fewer distractions, and I can upload my entry when I get home. Of all things, they have new tabletops here—fresh, solid wood. It's a good thing to appreciate along with a muffin and coffee.
Rose early this morning, enjoying some unexpected moments of beauty watching the rain fall hard in the backyard to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" and Sarah McLachlan's "Prayer of Saint Francis." I get lost in the beauty sometimes, watching beads form on petals and raindrops cascade against the green. And while the moment is enough even in solitude, a part of me wants nothing so much as to share it with someone. Anyone who doesn't understand the Christian's desire to share Jesus fails to understand this feeling. He is not merely a belief system—He is captivating and beautiful, and He is not ours alone.
Hoping to catch up with my family over the phone today; I tend to put it off because of busyness, tiredness, and time zones. Other than that, there's not much on the docket. Last night was the busy one, when I could only choose one of four possibilities. I chose to spend time with Connor and Sara for the first time in many weeks. They'll be off for Austin in a few months, so my time with them now is especially precious.