False Start

I'm nervous to write here.
I'm anxious that anything I say from my cozy kitchen (jazz music humming behind me, coffee steaming beside me) will sound like horse shit beside all the stories from "Africa". (I have no explanation for those quotation marks. I just really wanted to use them. They just embody my conflict.)

A number of things seems less noble or noteworthy now that I am home, the least of which, I swear like a trucker.

I feel like once I start writing again I will just start rambling about nonsense and drivel thereby making this safe place, this honest place, a lame tabloid.

Oh yeah, and I'm in love.

I feel as though this new reality of my state of being has forced me to surrender my sarcastic and critical tone. I fear it makes me less interesting. I've got stars in my eyes where once there was discernment; I have a vague, dreamy look in lieu of purpose. Not that this is bad. I'm in love for crying out loud, not leprous! I'm just not really sure what to do with it.

I'm not sure where to start with an update, or if anyone is even interested in that. Is there anyone even? What a strange idea to project ones very heart and mind into the anonymity of cyber space and hope that strangers will take care not to damage or abuse you when you're vulnerable and bear.

What is God teaching me? That he is good.

Presently I am in the throes of negotiating a return trip.
There's something disturbingly cyclical about the time frame. I should be back right around the same time I left last year. It's funny but it's comforting to know that nearly a year separates me from the moment of impact that broke my heart. I'm eager to get back to the heat and the mystery to figure out what I've learned, how I've grown, and what's changed.

Mostly, I am eager to live out a story that matters, to have a life that is in fact life and not awaiting death. I want to live in a place of expectancy and hope. I want to be part of something that matters, the Kingdom of God really. I just hope this path is leading there.