Hope is the thing with feathers, continued

Day 5.75.

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I’m sorry for those of you with readers. I’m not trying to be obnoxious with posting. I guess I just want a way to track my progress in this whole bein’-single business. I could journal, but I don’t feel like cramping my hand. I could add to my Word document journal, but I would rather this be public.

I don’t know why.

Anyway.

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I went to the River again tonight. I think it’s okay for me to call it that — the River, capital-R. It makes the ol’ Mississinewa sound more romantic. It was pretty romantic tonight, anyway; so it fits.

I went there to reflect. For about 20 minutes or so I wrote a poem. Because I was alone in my car, I could read the thing out loud without fear of people walking in the room. I didn’t need an audience. So I wrote and I read aloud.

I was going to head back then, but I decided to roll down my windows (it had stopped raining by that point) and reflect. That’s why I went there anyway.

Instead, I prayed. Out loud. For nearly 30 minutes. I haven’t done that in what seems like forever. It was beautiful, and it felt so natural.

What’s funny is how cynical I’ve become since starting at IWU, mainly because of its legalism. But now, more than ever, I feel close to the heart of God. I know a side of him I didn’t know before. It’s beautiful. I’m so thankful for it.

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So where’s your landslide?
Where’s your victory?
Tell me now, where’s your sting? – Thrice

November 15, 2011

Posted in Nonfiction.