The Miraculous and the Mundane

It’s okay to love, to be fond of, to enjoy the existence of our fellow human beings, it is okay to delight in those we love. It is okay to hold people in our hearts. It may seem as though it is of no consequence, or importance to realize that, but it is quite an important truth. Let the truth of it set you free, free of the demons of condemnation, fear, and doubt.

For myself, I need not be doubtful, or to live a life either of fear or condemnation, I am a child of God, and my heart and soul are those of a redeemed man. My heart is a heart given by God, a pure, righteous, holy, beautiful, and true heart, a sacred heart.

When I consider others who are counted among the redeemed, I still marvel. It is as though heaven has given them wings, on which they fly, and rise above. I see the supernatural working among the natural world, the miraculous among the mundane.

And yet, in consideration of the mundane, even that I find fascinating, I ask, what are my own limits? What would happen if I pushed myself to the limits of human capacity in the natural realm just to see what it is that the human being is capable of. I cannot deny it, humanity, even its natural state, is a glorious creature indeed, which as an artist myself, is not of any surprise to me, that even though humanity has fallen, there still remains in them a reflection of the one who has made humanity, and did so in his image, it is true of my own creations as well, even when they are not perfect, my handiwork can still be seen upon them. This, in my mind does not lessen the glory of the creator, even if the natural man is a fallen one, he or she is still, though not particularly intending to, glorifying the creator. How much more does the redeemed man bring glory to him. I am rather fond of what might be called the more mythical aspects of the historical narrative, amongst them is the story referred to as the myth that came true. Perhaps it is because I am a writer myself, but I tend to see the world, and history, and everything else through the lens of words and storytelling, my view of the world is a very narrative one, with a beginning, a middle, a end, with a world that is as much a poem as it is a home, and above all, an author, an author who writes, and has written, and knows all aspects of the story, even the parts that I have not read yet, but perhaps most incredibly of all, an author who has himself entered into his own story to redeem humanity.

Yet, there is the matter of my own part of the tale, and it is interesting that in this part I both walk the appointed path, as written, and choose the path upon which I walk. And one of the things I have to face as I face my own story, is the question of overcoming the fears that bind. Take for example, my fear of the physical touch of others, and of doing so to them. While this is perhaps an understandable fear, I cannot think it a good one. It runs so deep that for so long now, I’ve withheld myself and shrank back from the touch of others, and the effect upon me has been a rather peculiar one. There are times when I feel detached, invisible, alone. I don’t like not being able to reach out and comfort the hurting, nor expressing fully my own affection by forcing myself to be distant and cold. It can make one feel at times as though one is so full of love, and joy, and mirth, and yet has nothing to do with it. As though one has taken a universe within, but has not a way to let it out again.

I wish I could take people by the hand and physically express with that gesture the warmness of my heart towards them. Also, just to clarify, I do not mean that I seek the human touch in an inappropriate sense, I speak of the human need for human contact with each other, and how it feels not to have that. Regardless, of that, I am grateful for it, it gives me a measure of compassion for the truly isolated, and alone, where my isolation is my own mental barriers cutting myself off, I am aware that some are cut off without choice.

After all, there are so many people who are precious to me and I have no means to let them know that. What is it to think the world of people if they are not aware of it? Oh, I don’t know, the point is, I do in fact, grow weary of coming across as cold and distant, when that really isn’t what I wish to be, and in my heart, is not what I am.

So, how do I find my place in the greater story? How do I lose the focus upon the little things, the little fears that seem greater than they truly are? That is the challenge, I suppose. I know it is because I do not force myself to go out and do things quite as readily as I ought that I often feel isolated. I have very little initiative. I am keenly aware that most of the trouble I have is indeed my own making, I am aware of that. It is true, that if I were to throw myself out there more, I would slowly, but surely, find myself in the company of other humans. Which is definitely something that I seek. To do so, I need to change my perspective.

So, how to change my perspective? That is indeed a good question, and one that I’m still trying to figure out how to answer. I’ll be honest, I do have a number of ‘struggles’ or ‘problems’ that I quite honestly, haven’t figured out yet. I’m fairly certain that in some form, everyone has these, some of us, myself included, are just pretty good at hiding it. It is certainly true of me that I tend to hide behind some mask or other, I’ve long been aware of it. The problem is when you can’t remember what you’re supposed to be when you’re yourself.

Not that it is all about me, it is just that I do tend to keep myself the most company, so it is easy for me to make observations of my own behavior, regardless, I do wish to know what my part in the tale is. I suppose in the end however, some stories are not meant to be told, they’re meant to be lived.