conflicted

So now do you see why books are hated and feared? They show
the pores in the face of life. The comfortable people want only wax moon faces,
poreless, hairless, expressionless. We are living in a time when flowers are
trying to live on flowers, instead of growing on good rain and black loam.”
                                                   Ray
Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
____________________________________
 
it may come as a surprise to some
but I would love to be one of the comfortable people
 
I don’t want to be one of those people who
Seeing what is going on the world
Fuses with all the dysfunction, and carries it around
 
I want to close my eyes (sometimes)
And pretend it all isn’t there
All that stuff that makes me uncomfortable
 
I want to be one of those people who can take a few
breaths
And let it go
 
And I want to be one of those people who makes other
people comfortable
one of those who never roils the waters
one of those who is always
 
comforting and uplifting
one who inspires
 
and 
I will admit it
I want people to like my blog
I want people to like my sermons
I want people to like me
 
I want people to think well of me
to see me as intelligent
fair, kind, tolerant, balanced
 
I want people to see me as an asset in their lives
 
And yet, I am me
I tend to see it all, and I let it all slam against me 
like a spiritual 2X4
 
I overthink
I fuse
I get, hooked
I can be impulsive, and stubborn
 
Shall we call it opinionated?
 
And so after my fingers fly
and my blog is “out there”
 
I am often haunted
Was what I said true?
Did I really explain what I meant?
Did I say it in a way to avoid misunderstanding?
Want did I miss?
Was it too harsh?
Was it too soft?
Did I avoid the real issue?
I watch the likes, and agonize over the unlikes
 
My mind and heart carry it all
 
In the end I am accountable
I am accountable for my tone
For veracity 
I am the one who needs to think carefully
And speak more carefully
 
But I also have no control
Over where people go with what I write
Or how they respond
 
So in the end all I can do is what I can do
I can simply do my best to put out there what is on my
heart
 
I hope that God has a part in guiding my passion
Although I know that is not always true
 
I can strive to tell the truth
Although I know that sometimes I will be wrong
 
But all I can do is put it out there,
And know that discomfort is the price
Of making a difference….
 
I am reminded of what Wilbur Rees writes in his book
Three Dollars Worth of God:
 
“I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep, but
just enough to equal a cup of warm milk, or a snooze in the sunshine.
I don’t want enough of God to make me love a black man or
pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.”
 
I want God to explode my soul
I want God to make me passionate about Black Lives Matter
I want God to make me feel the pain of those immigrants,
caged and alone
I want God to give me transformation
And challenge
 
and I want that tumult of soul
to sound forth in what I write        
 
not because I want to make people uncomfortable 
(I hate that)
But because, perhaps, we need to be uncomfortable
 
Well
 
At least I do
Maybe we all do
 
So all I can do is “speak out”
and hope for a little bit of grace… from God and from you