Day one

I picture a child.
                           A small, shy child, seated on a rickety chair in the middle of a classroom. Glasses scrunched on her nose, eyes squinted, peering up at a wide blackboard the teacher is scribbling on. Equation after equation is written out in exceptional detail, and to see it, it appears to be absurdly simple. But the child, however intelligent, cannot make heads or tails of it. Trying desperately to work the numbers and scratching furiously on her paper, she struggles to keep up and grasp the concept. Every fiber of her being desires to solve it, to be able to understand. To lift the fog of confusion masking the answers. To no avail, she tries again and again. The numbers refuse to fall into place. She casts a suspicious eye around the classroom, a small part of her hoping to see another student in the same battle. It appears that she is the only one unable to complete the task set before them. It just doesn't make sense. She wants to understand, to grasp ahold, and move forward, but she cannot move beyond.
                             I feel like this child, the classroom is life, the teacher is christianity, and the equation is my faith. Where is God in it all? Why can't He simply infuse me with unshakeable faith? I struggle within myself, a battle with flesh and spirit. I am a mustard seed that refuses to germinate and grow. Every time I poke my ahead above the surface, preparing to flourish, I catch sight of the towering forest around me, and I retreat back into the dirt. How could I ever become like a towering oak? How could I ever even dream of being fully alive and blossoming in His Life? I am that child, still in the classroom, buried in a mountain of failed tests, slowly losing faith. Too frustrated to continue. I am still that child. I've outgrown my small desk, every corner of the classroom has collected cobwebs, the lights have long since burned out, and my limbs have grown weak. Yet still, on the dusty blackboard, remains the instructions. The simple, yet oh so baffling instructions, step by step, waiting to be understood. I throw my pencil, scatter my papers, overturn my desk, and beat my fists against the blackboard. I just want to give up. To walk out of the classroom and never look back. To give in to my flesh, and burn away the last of my faith. Oh, how patient He is. Anyone else would have given up on me. None other, has the love and faith that He does. He remains faithful, when I am a fickle lover, He remains kind, when I abtain cruelty, He remains gentle, when I unleash my rage, He remains patient, when I give up so easily, He remains a powerful God, when I sink below the surface.
                            Ignorance is a frightfully familiar tune I dance to. Perhaps knowingly, perhaps not. Am I to attain the knowledge of Good and Evil? Right and Wrong? No matter what I believe there will always be someone to challenge it with dogged and passionate fervency. Who is to say who is right? If I retreat to the bible, Gods word, and attempt to find the answers there, who is to say I am reading it correctly?  If the ragged ship of my soul is lost out in a storm at sea, who is to say that light piercing the black fog is Good or Evil? Dare I steer my ship towards it? The trickery of Evil, is that one cannot always see it for what it truly is. Evil comes cloaked in light, and one does not find this out until it is too late. I desperately search for answers, praying continuously for wisdom, yet I hesitate. If I claim to desire wisdom, and at last attain it, my days of ignorance will be over. The thin film of what I percieve as reality will be torn to shreds. There is no going back from that. So I fight wisdom and discernment. I want it. I hide from it. I beg for it. I swat it away with a careless hand and fingers that itch to sin. How it is possible to be so conflicted, I do not know. My feet yearn to dance in the freedom only righteousness brings, but with knowledge comes responsibility. If I were to be brutally honest, I would say that is not my hearts desire. Yet, my life is no longer my own. I surrendered my hollow shell of a human body, my tattered heart, and wandering soul, to my Father and King. This was not to be done lightly. Taking up my cross and follwing Him through mountains and across deep seas, was not a decsision made on a whim. My choice to emerge from the shadows and stand before Him, filthy, yet willing, was not made lightly. It cannot be done lightly. It is not a life choice, meant to be chalked up with menial tasks and pro-active actions. It changes the very structure of the soul. It is a wonderous gift. A beautiful burden. An agonizing death, followed by new life. I emerged from the womb of ignorance, no more than a helpless babe, weak, and unsure. My eyes were opened. With this, came sorrow. My heart, Gods possession, yet easily swayed the the world, grew heavy with grief. When I observed the world, I saw a mere glimpse of what He sees, and it broke my heart. It is so hard, no, almost impossible, to pursue further this journey into wisdom. Altogether terrifying. I cannot turn back, yet my feet refuse to carry me forward. I stand on the brink. I stand on the raging waves. I stand in the blackened valley. In the end, I stand before Him.