I think Just Breathe was intended to be a song about somebody you love dying. But I sing Pearl Jam’s Just Breathe, to God. Because it’s all my fears, prayers, and all I could ever ask Him, in one song.
Yes I understand that every life must end, uh huh
As I sit alone I know someday we must go, uh-huh
Oh, I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love. Some folks just have one, yeah others they got none. Uh-huh.
Stay with me. Let’s just breathe.
Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.
Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh.
Yeah I don’t want to hurt, there’s so much in this world to make me bleed.
Stay with me. You’re all see.
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.
I wonder every day As I look upon your face, uh-huh. Everything you gave and nothing you wouldn’t take, uh-huh.
Nothing you would take. Everything you gave…
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.
Nothing you would take everything you gave.
Hold me till I die.
Meet you on the other side…
Christmas is the season of perpetual hope. A thrill of hope, as O Holy Night reminds me, as the weary world rejoices.
I am the weary world. My hope is that Jesus came so that He might accompany me in my weariness, lighten the load with his presence should I have Him, and take me to Him and Love along with all the people I cherish and hold dear when someday it’s my time to go.
A thrill of hope.
Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear saviors birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till he appeared and the soul felt it’s worth.
My soul doesn’t always feel it’s worth. I question things a lot. I’d like to think God is okay with this because this is how he made me, but sometimes I wonder, does he think it’s okay? Does my questioning bring me nearer to Him or further away? At what point does it matter?
For yonder breaks a new a glorious mourn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angle voices. Oh night divine.
Nat King Cole beseeches me to hear. To fall on my knees and to declare the night divine. To feel the sheer thrill of it. That we might not have to be alone with our suffering without end.
The night of our dear Saviors birth.
I had a big ole Christmas party last Friday night. Many people came. We ate, drank and were merry. I celebrated many friends and health and happiness. I went to sleep in a warm bed, woke up to warm food, and basked in the warmth of my family.
Yeah I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the one’s I love.
Then the restlessness started to creep back. My constant companion as of late. Now what? it says. The party is done. What will you plan next? And it knows I must plan something next, or else the restlessness. The feeling of doing nothing, contributing nothing, being nothing and even more so, having no work to do that’s of any value—being a waste of space. Even though I am loved. Even though I love. Even though I am happy, I feel like I am not living up to my potential. That I am not doing the work I am meant to do. Not living my purpose. Not even knowing what it is. That I’m wasting my days, not taking time seriously, and what if when the “one day I must go” comes and I’m still living this way and haven’t figured it out? The regret. The sadness. And so I regularly lament in the midst of my lovely, wonderful life.
It’s a strange thing. A waste of a lovely, wonderful life in a way. How ironic. Why not just enjoy my life?
Because something inside me prompts me to more. Prompts is a bad word. Invites. Something invites me to more. The “more” isn’t inherently bad, it simply keeps whispering that there is more than just enjoying your life. That maybe even just enjoying your life leaves you the most hollowed out and alone because there is good and useful work for me to do that merely enjoying doesn’t give. That maybe even just enjoying betrays. But “more” won’t say what that work is–not specifically. So I spend my days searching for it.
Maybe it’s THIS. Maybe it’s THAT. Perhaps I’d be useful at this. Maybe that’s why I have these gifts, because I’m supposed to be using them this way. If I go and do this thing, surely I’ll find my purpose which will give me lasting fulfillment and I won’t have to pine after it everyday. I won’t have to wonder who I am or what I’m good at anymore because I’ll finally know and then I’ll just keep doing that. I won’t have to long for it anymore because it’ll be there.
I’ll do a thing or take on a project. I’ll like it. It maybe even brings value to people other than myself. I’ll feel good. I’ll feel useful and worthy of my life. I want to do it again so I search for the next project or thing to work on. But in between, the restlessness and sadness and doubt.
I know I’m looking for something that doesn’t bring lasting fullness. The thing I should be looking for, I know, is Jesus. I should be looking for God. Confusing since I thought I’d found Him.
Do you ever really find God? When you do, do you ever really get to hold onto him or do you just have to keeping trying to find him hundreds of different ways, hundreds of different days? Him in plain sight, but I’m blind again.
Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.
Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you? For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me.
Jesus came to earth to be born as a baby.
A thrill of hope.
I am loved and doubtful and full of questions that never provide answers. I am taken care of and I take care. I am not worthy or living up to my potential. Perhaps I never will. I can’t seem to grasp how to do it—how to hold the stars. I’m too self involved and overly indulgent at times. I don’t give until it hurts. I fail over and over.
And yet He came. One night in December, He came for me. He came for all my not enough-ness, and then also for the times when I believe I am EVERYTHING AWESOME. He came just the same. And I can question if it really happened, and ponder my doubt mixed with hope that it did, and pray to make my faith stronger so that belief could just be easy and tidy for me to accept.
Or I can just decide to accept, in an audacious act of faith.
Acts of faith like that are hard to maintain for me.
It’s not in my nature, I don’t think. I’ll surely forget again. Forget how to have faith like that all the time.
But for this season of advent, and in anticipation of celebrating Christ’s birthday, the gift I will give is my audacious faith and celebration and thanks and praise that He came. I will show him a weary world rejoices—even if it’s a conscious choice rather than a genuine reaction because I’m so jaded and poor and not understanding.
This Christmas, I’m leaving space. I’m not filling it with another project to make me feel better, useful or relieved. I choose Christmas. I choose to behold the night divine. I choose God with me. Even if I don’t feel it all the time. Even if I doubt it will make a difference. I will let God be enough. Alas, He is the only thing that ever has been.
Hold me till I die.
Meet you on the other side…
