The Winter of My Blogging

It has been a long, long while. Much has happened and changed, and yet things are somehow much the same: The failings of self, the failings of others, the loss of the dearly loved...pain, suffering, fear, disappointment, doubt all jostling for position. The promise of faith, hope, and love begging me to cling tight and put the other behind. Some days, the faith, hope, and love even win out. Some days, I just let the tears fall.

It has been a quiet time creatively. I have a few things to post, to get "caught up" on my very limited output.

I'm longing for spring, even though the winter hasn't been too cold. I'm hoping the tiny buds on the trees, the greening of the grass, the warming of my cold bones will reawaken the flow of creative juices.

Fr. O'Keeffe's homily yesterday hit the nail on the head, in this respect: "We are a culture who will 'give things up to God' once we feel we have done everything we can to ensure nothing will go wrong. We will 'surrender' something once we have decided we didn't want it anyway."

We will trust God with our future, as long as He allows us to feel like we are in control. We aren't sufficiently broken...at least I'm not.

Sun comes up like a yellow bus, tracking over the ocean's of dust
One day's miracle is another day's rut, time keeps breaking like it always does
I'm not a loner, no sackcloth and ashes
Just a heart on a teather with a vagabond mind
This may be a broken man
Who comes shivering out of this wintertime

I'm a broken man, a broken man, out here on the outskirts of the promised land
a broken man, a broken man

I have faltered in my strength, I have wanted to do everything right
I swallow hard while the second hand blinks, Shut the back door to keep out the night

Is it just a game Is this a maze to lead me right back where I started from
This will be a broken man come shattered from this marathon

I'm a broken man, a broken man Outcast on the outskirts of the promised land
A broken man A broken man

Maybe I fear the crush of guilt, I can't take that kind of weight
Maybe I'm afraid when the thunder breaks, Scared of losing the things I love so much

I pretend I ain't scared that I ain't frightened by no third degree
But this will be a broken man come begging for your charity

I'm a broken man, a broken man Outcast on the outskirts of the promised land
A broken man, A broken man, A broken man

From Satellite Sky
Thanks to the Mark Heard Lyric Project