It’s there. In life.
It’s like trying to escape the sting of summer on your skin. No matter how much you try to protect yourself you still get burned at some point.
Yet somehow I like the sting, because it’s a reminder of the fullness summer brings.
Days spent outside enjoying the beauty of life which is abounding in nature.
In the same way I feel burned. Third degree burned. No amount of aloe from my Father can soothe me.
Some days I feel like I’m drawing from an empty bottle.
That the soothing coolness has been used up on someone else.
The joy that is supposed to be in the bottle is dried up.
I look at this story, the story of my life. I know it’s young, I know I’m still getting to know the main character. I haven’t even reached the climax of the story. I wish I could just skip to the closing chapter so I can have perspective as my story unfolds.
Some days I can’t take the pain around me. Pain I see in close friends. Their lives being wrecked. The wreckage of sin that pervades and writhers with such ease in all of us.
And I wonder if the sunburn will ever heal.
I wonder if I step into the Son will I be burned. So I ferociously cover and lather up with what protective lotion I think will protect me.
I keep being drawn to the rays of the Son. But I hate the burn I feel.
How do I enjoy the warmth?
How do I find the joy in the pain?
In an effort to avoid it all, I sometimes hide in the dark.