Burning fingers, and other things.

The fact is, I haven’t blogged in awhile.  I don’t blog as regularly as I used to, and I’m not really sure why.  I’ve been sleeping a lot, which is bothering me a bit.  Every time I come here and realize I don’t write as much as I used to, it bothers me too.  It’s like writing has always been part of my life and when it’s not, well it’s strange, and I don’t know whether it’s because this blog was made to accomplish a goal that seems forced and so I’ve neglected it, or because I just don’t have that push to write as much anymore.  I really hope I can write more again, especially since I’ve been feeling like a wanderer, a little bit.  I don’t have a permanent locale at the moment, which is fine for a little while, but then you start to feel restless.  You do what you need to do, all without a place called home.  What’s so significant about having a home?  A home is a place where you’re able to build, to tear down, to put up, to stay.  I didn’t mean to write about home, but I guess that’s what is on my heart right now.  Maybe because we pray it so often.  “Lord, make home in my heart”.  Isn’t it strange that the Bible would mention something like that?  When I mention that I’ve lived in SoCal before, I inevitably have to mention that I came here for Bible school.  Now it is at once a convenient way for me to tell folks that I am a Christian, but it’s also a convenient way to maybe give folks a chance to cast all kinds of judgments and opinions about who I am and what I stand for.  At least, that’s what I think when I mention it.  And so I say it, and I watch for reactions.  Do they think I’m a hellfire and brimstone preaching Christian?  Are they going to stop cursing around me?  Will they close their heart?  It’s stressful, really, and I have no clue how to navigate the situation.  Here’s to a lot of overthinking.

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