Worth Reflecting on . . .

My faith journey kind of looks like this (so far): faith with youthful zeal and idealism (with confidence and a smile with little room with fear and trembling) -- wounded bitter cynical days -- the SLOW gradual re-emergence of hope, but a limping hope, trying to find out how joy, zeal, hope, fear and and trembling can integrate together in a life drenched with God. Cynicism dies a long death, and learning to take risks again despite fear of screwing it up. Being vulnerable when you are guaranteed to be hurt- and still letting yourself be vulnerable. I don't know- the last several years have been ones of gradually feeling alive and more alive. Hope with eyes wide open. Depression and Joy rooming together in the same household- but with joy gradually taking up more square footage.
Well- I like what Steve Taylor had to write:

The Finish Line

Once upon an average morn
An average boy was born for the second time
Prone upon the altar there
He whispered up a prayer he'd kept hid inside
The vision came, he saw the odds
A hundred little gods on a gilded wheel
"These will vie to take your place
But, Father, by Your grace I will never kneel"

And I saw you, upright and proud
And I saw you wave to the crowd
And I saw you laughing out loud at the Philistines
And I saw you brush away rocks
And I saw you pull up your socks
And I saw you out on the blocks for the finish line

Darkness falls, the devil stirs
And as your vision blurs you start stumbling
The heart is weak, the will is gone
And every strong conviction comes tumbling down
Malice rains, the acid guile
Is sucking at your shoes while the mud is fresh
It floods the trail, it leaves you dry
As every little god buys its pound of flesh

And I saw you licking your wounds
And I saw you weave your cocoons
And I saw you changing your tunes for the party line
And I saw you welch on old debts
I saw you and your comrades bum cigarettes
And you hemmed and you hawed
And you hedged all your bets waiting for a sign

Let's all wash our hands as we throw little fits
Let's all wash our hands as we curse hypocrites
We're locked in the washroom turning old tricks
Deaf and joyless and full of it

The vision came, he saw the odds
A hundred little gods on a gilded wheel
"These have tried to take Your place
But, Father, by Your grace, I will never kneel
I will never kneel"

Off in the distance, bloodied but wise
As you squint with the light of the truth in your eyes
And I saw you, both hands were raised
And I saw your lips move in praise
And I saw you steady your gaze for the finish line
Every idol like dust, a word scattered them all
And I rose to my feet when you scaled the last wall
And I gasped when I saw you fall in His arms at the finish line

Written by Steve Taylor © 1993 Warner Alliance Music/Soylent Tunes ASCAP