Don't want to be a hypocrite weighs heavy. Need to get off the web. Out from under its sticky compelling clutches. Lacking fellowship, becomes a window to stare out from. A rampart and seeming newswire announcing the turmoil.
Increasingly all rings hollow. The sound of idle speculation or ear tickling and always learning, and never to a . . .
Most often disagree, here and there, with what I write and think. Yesterday, claiming association with progressive -and- evangelical, in supposed contrast to 'traditional'. Better said, self-define as neither yet aspects of both. Find what good can in Christians output but there are no homes. No one gets the combo arrived at. . . .
The need to concentrate on... Rightfully desperate. Understandably desperate. What to see built? Don't know anymore so much. Ever more-moderate aims to reach out and mountain move.
The mustard seed conspiracy, a once-titled call. A camp, a crew... ok.. an open, one-other person, and awake.
Not gonna gripe. Plus keep this short. . . .
Writing to who-knows and a likely not so many/if at all readership, is an odd undertaking. "Y'talkin' to me?"-- about sums it up. A mirror back and perhaps words prophetically getting out?
Let me lay down some sounding-deluded grandeur; I cannot find anything much out there to read, certainly Jesus-wise. Therefore writing . . .
Everywhere and in historic abundance. Singularly decisive in driving us from God and each other; Exuding an excessive sense of entitlement, whacked-up, with perverse kicks. Makes me sick. Know my own swilling dosage. Jesus-lacking trash. It's everywhere. So prevalent, somewhat invisible.
'Hyperairōmai' and should not become . . .
The ultimate blinker is the absence of God speaking. The danger of pointing to others, as the saying goes, leaves three fingers turned back towards ourselves. Getting much right and looking out there but griping about the barren landscape for Spirit-filled utterances, yet not hearing God myself, is called hypocrisy.
Perhaps I can cry out . . .
Another 'Blinkers' break
Not looking back, hadn't noticed the graphic was unfinished yesterday. Scrappy. Updated.
Boredom, drives me on to God. With age comes a certain weary disillusionment. Seeking of what little comfort, interest and surprise can be found, once commitments and domestics are fulfilled.
What's on my mind?
This would make the best -- if . . .