Girl, hand me my sandwich board

When you’re apart of the 99% of the blogging masses, it’s normal to feel like what you’re doing is pointless.  And most of the time you press on– either because it doesn’t matter or because it’s more important to express yourself, etc. etc.  But I think you wouldn’t be human if it didn’t bother you a little bit.  We are made for significance, and when we don’t feel that it can be hard.  At the same time, it can feel overwhelming the thought of being, well, TOO significant.  While you may want your little piece of fame at the same time the instinct to completely shield yourself from gawking eyes goes into overdrive.  It’s this push/pull that is hindering me from using this blog for what I’m currently thinking of using it for.  While I realize that even friends and family probably don’t even have the inclination to peruse this blog, there’s still a part of me that is afraid of the powerful message that’s inside of me and what kind of impact it could make even among the tiniest random mishmash of audience.  I feel like Mary herself hiding the most profound and enigmatic pregnancy, a mysterious masterpiece that will soon become evident to everyone, an uncontrollable reveal to the outside world, the response to which cannot be controlled.  Some will marvel, some will wonder, others will mock and most assuredly write off.  Perhaps some will defend.  The worst?  For me?  The non-response.  When you routinely carry and birth profound things it can be maddening.  Imagine mass indifference, or simply polite acknowledgement, to a newborn.  Or perhaps the only enthusiasm coming from the opposition of adamant strangers.  The whole thing is a nuisance at best.

The blogging slowed down in the last few years for a number of reasons.  I could blame kids and marriage, even though there are a lot of chipper wives and moms flapping their gums about whatever they deem helpful.  The truth is any love I had for writing, which was already dubious, had pretty much been wrenched out of me over time.  It remains possibly my strongest talent, unfortunately.  It seems obvious though that I honor God with what He’s put in my hand, so much so that if I don’t I will get in trouble I feel.  Like when you tell your parents you flunked out of college because you never went to class… but you weren’t partying, you just spent the whole time in your room taking apart computers and figuring them out.  Or watching history channel or CSPAN or something.  It’s like, can you be any more wasteful in so many ways for no reason?  And I know better.  The back corner recesses of my mind are spent dreading the reality that I might be the wicked servant who buried her talents in the ground rather than at least putting them in the bank to collect interest.  But like all good lifelong procrastinators, there’s only one thing that snaps me out of inaction:  and that’s the stark realization of a deadline.  Luckily God has given me one, the ultimate one.  The one that I have to go by if I’m going to have anything to show for myself at the end.  The one that I feel burdened to share.  The one I am pregnant with.

On September 22 of this year, around midday, you’ll probably find me outside intently watching the sky.  Confidently expecting not necessarily a sign– the signs have come, and by then will have come to an end– but a changing of the guard.  The moment that begins the year of Jubilee for some and the great and terrible day of the Lord for others.  The day that the elect will be rewarded, that the era of grace is complete, and that judgement begins.  Jesus describes it as a peculiar lottery of sorts that will divide among family, neighborhood, household.  Paul calls it the “mystery,” the day that not all will sleep but will be caught up in the heavens.  Today it is most commonly, cynically, referred to as “the rapture.”

Surprise!  I’m a date setter.

Not really.  God is actually the date setter, naturally.  I’m just one putting the pieces together, and I certainly haven’t done such things alone.  People that have studied these thing longer and better are to thank, not to mention the supernatural witness of others, both conscious and unwitting.  I suppose I’ll be trying in the coming weeks to put together some semblance of a comprehensive essay defending my position, perhaps some FAQ’s, for those of you in my meager circle of influence who have “an ear to hear” as Jesus would say.  For those that cannot or will not hear I’m afraid there’s no word that will appease you, and you probably don’t want one, do you?  For those that only know of me my outward manufactured persona, I assure you I haven’t lost any marbles.  I can still operate a motor vehicle, make a grocery list, pay taxes, hold an interest in pop culture (to an extent), keep up with current events, and the like.  Trust me when I tell you there are stranger things that we are being asked to believe right now, okay?  At any rate, I just know that God has given me a little stage for my little talent, for whatever reason, and a burden to share something that is 100% not my idea of what I would consider appropriate for public, indiscriminate distribution.  For those of you willing to take the bite, skeptical or full of faith, I hope this perspective leaves you, for lack of a simpler term, “blessed.”

One thought on “Girl, hand me my sandwich board

  1. CHRISANTHEMUM7, love it! So – just out there! Honest, genuine and clever with a sprinkle of playful humor. Blessed me to find & read this.

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