Jumble

Sometimes in my head the thoughts don't come clearly. Especially late at night, when I lay awake and think and I'm sure that if I just thought hard enough, I could categorize my life into neat little boxes, all the beads sorted out separately, so there aren't any orange ones in the purple box, or blue ones with the yellows. It's not possible of course (though hope springs eternal), but life would be more tidy, less bother. Not that life was meant to be a bother, of course, but it sometimes feels like that ride when you were a kid and you're spinning all around and you desperately want to put your arms up in the air, because in the pictures it looks like so much fun when people do that, but you just can't let go of the handle bars, because you're sure you'd fall out. But you can't. You know that.

Any way you look at it, though, there's that thread running through everything, that silver thread that keeps everything bound to reality, and when you stop to sort it out, to try to get your beads on it (which makes no sense, really, because why am I talking about beads?) you realize how strange your life has become. The Lord knows best, we say this again and again, and even mostly believe it, but when you look back you realize that you'd never have chosen what He ended up choosing for you. Your life would have been tidier, with point A coming firmly before point B, and on and on and on it goes through the alphabet, ending with Z for Rapture (which makes sense, because the Rapture is the end of our earthly life, even though it doesn't start with Z at all), but here looking behind you, even if you're only up to the letter I, or maybe J, you can already see that life doesn't follow a human pattern even thus far. His thoughts are higher than ours? That's the only explanation. Plus, you are where you are (I am where I am) and somehow it makes sense. His ways are higher, and they're always better than the best (because only the best gets to be better than itself).

Which leads us to ponder, why don't we trust all the time? because if we can see, even now at the J or K stage of life, that His arms are always carrying us through, wouldn't it make most sense if we like Him do His perfect work all the time? Today, tomorrow, and even on alternating Mondays (though those are hard days due to life being what it is), we should trust. We mostly don't (I mostly don't, but you can judge for yourself what you do, and don't do or trust).

So that brings us back to the beads, all in their little boxes, all mixed up because we sin. All mixed up because we live. Living isn't bad, it's just messy. The peach of on part of life gets mixed in with the maroon, and we just have to face up to the fact that it's OK. That even when we don't sleep (which is often) we'll be OK. That's what concealer was invented for (even if you don't wear it, it's nice to know it's around), and that's what coffee was invented for (even if you don't drink it, and miss it, and sometimes wonder why you gave it up in the first place), and that's why people don't expect much from a tired girl. Somehow this has nothing to do with what I was first thinking of--

--when I woke up. Even though it's the middle of the night. They say wonders never cease. I wish ceasing would be the thing that happens to insomnia.