Beyond the water reflection

Who knew writing your heart can be so lifting? If I knew that, I would have started writing a long time before I actually did. Actually, I think it's because of my english teacher. Man, how that guy can teach. Before I knew it, I started loving to read and write when I hated it last year. He's really awesome. Although if he read this, he would find all the rhetoric and all of that english stuff that was missing... Through all that, this blog goes out to him for inspiring me to not only write, but to express.

I've had some time to think stuff over the past day on what I wrote. Man, I really poured my heart out.

Maybe I was just over thinking, but maybe not. Can I really help others? If so, how could I help them without feeling what they have felt that caused them to do such actions? How do others help? How can I feel the same pain that they feel so I can connect without actually committing those actions? So many open ended questions....

Anyways, today was a weird day. I found out people actually read this kind of stuff. I got so many reactions, I don't know how to respond to them. What makes them care? Why should they take time to read this? Does it change them as a person by reading my pains? I hope it does. I hope that my pains and struggles will benefit others.

At least, today was so much better than Monday. Monday was a bummer both emotionally and physically. Today, my mind wasn't as clouded, but I was still confused. I asked the question: What's going on with my spiritual life? Is it going forward or backwards?

I remember somebody told me that if you aren't moving forward in you walk with God, you're falling back. Well, I always thought of it as a rope connected to God in heaven hanging down to Earth. There always has to be a connection with God towards him. You have to hold that rope leading to him while he pulls you up even in the struggles of daily life. Even when you are tired of holding the rope, Hold! For at the end there will be a greater prize. But the pain of holding on gets worse and worse as you get higher and higher. There's always something trying to pull you down. There's something trying to get you to let go of that rope.

I fell down that rope. I went from great heights, to the lowest of lows. I'm at base level now. The thing is, it's so hard to get up that rope, but it's so easy to go down. It frustrates me. It frustrates me because I know I always fall off. I know I can't hold on for more than a year, six months, or even three months. It frustrates me how I am always reborn but I am never constant. I cut the lines every single time the connection is made.

That constant struggle to connect for a brief period of time and feel great! Then to break it as if you flip a light switch.

How heartbreaking must it be for God to watch his kids cut themselves off every. single. time.

Sure, to cut themselves, they must first make a connection. But what then after? What happens when somebody asks of their walk with God?

One of the pastors from SMT when I was in junior high talked about this and I never seemed to let it go. This message was for me.

He talked about being a christian, not for seven years, but for one year reborn 7 times. He talked about how the walk with God can not be broken to shards, but it must be constant, unending, habitual. He talked about post-SMT feelings and that there WAS going to be a spiritual high. We all knew it. We all understood it. But what we did not understand was how high the spiritual high was and how low life was without it.

I think another shard of my religious life was cut this past weekend. I felt dark and tenebrous in living life in general. But now is a new day, a new life, a new commitment.

A new commitment not to be reborn again every single time a retreat happens or when SMT is in action, but to fortify the bonds between God and me.

A new commitment not to be a one year old seven times, but be a seven year old one time.

A new commitment not only at church, but as a lifestyle.

Wow if my english teacher read this, he would kill me.



To my journal,

Phil