If you asked me what I've been thinking about I couldn't tell you. I mean I could, but it's all in bullet form. A numerical list of motions throughout my day. Nothing expounded on, nothing explored, nothing of depth. Lots of thankfulness, some fear, a little frustration, learning to take and give and desire joy. Nothing rich, nothing real. But all of this sense of nothingness results in somethingness.

I remember a poem I read once by Rilke, a line that stays in my head:

And you wait, keep waiting for that one thing
which would infinitely enrich your life,
the powerful, uniquely uncommon
the awakening of dormant stones,
depths that would reveal you to yourself.

It stays in my head because it feels like me. I'm not waiting to be discovered, I promise, by anyone but me. I've bought into the poet's lie that to my own self be true! And I wait, keeping waiting for that one thing that would reveal me to me. That would make all the mess and order and disorder and life and hope and doubt and death make sense. It's subconscious, I know. If you asked I wouldn't say that. Never would I say that. I'm far too concerned with appearances and Abundant Life to say that. But I think it.

And this is what gets me in trouble.

I read this today from the Gospel of Mark: Take care what you listen to! By your standard of measure it will be measured to you and more will be given besides.

I've been listening to the wrong things. I've been measuring against the wrong things. My expectation is set at half-lifes, thinking I somehow have to build up to the original. God's portion control isn't like that. He wants to give us everything! I hold back, straddle the fence, tout church lingo "If God wills" because I'm afraid He's not. And what if He's not?

How would I know?

So instead I say, I preach, I ask, and I tremble, because What If He Will? What then?

What if my Dim Glass isn't enough to contain even a fraction of Who He Is and What He Does? What if my standard of measuring is one cup and He wants to give me two. Lord, I want two! I want my cup to overflow, but God, let my cup be ever expanding, always increasing, never filling and still overflowing.

And in that immersion of what You give, let me not be revealed to me, but let me reveal others to you.

Then I will be awakened, the dormant stones rolled away, and the surprise of Resurrection be that One Thing forever.