2 09 2008

Less than a month old, and already doomed.  I’m not talking about a baby.  I’m talking about this blog.  I’ve been thinking about my abilities to maintain a one-way conversation with anyone.  I just don’t do it.  People…very kind people have tried determinedly to draw me out of myself and failed.  I don’t make eye contact.  I don’t do anything to encourage the continuance of discussion.  I don’t hate these people; in fact, I like them very much, but I have little desire to interact with them.  One might imagine, then, how impossible it would be for me to draw out myself for others to see.  It simply wouldn’t happen.

There was a time in my life when I would habitually spend two hours each night praying to God.  My parents lived on some rural rugged property with a little chapel on a hill.  Each night, I would climb that slope in the dark, chasing away who knows what wildlife that rustled in the blackness, and there, between an old wooden cross and that weathered little building, I would stare up at the sky and beg God to talk to me.  I had recently graduated from high school, and college had proven to be a cold and impersonal place.  I had no one to call a friend.  I knew that God could hear me.  He was someone that I could always talk to.  However, talking to someone who never talked back proved to be an unnatural and difficult task for me.  I told him so, too.  Eventually, I gave up and never returned to routine prayer.  I told God that I would be waiting for him to speak; I figured I had done enough talking and it was his turn.

Last year, in October, the Harris fire raged over that area for miles in every direction.  Several homes were lost around there, and it left my parents’ property a scorched and barren moonscape.  All of their smaller buildings were lost.  All that was left of them were the nails, fallen straight down from where they had been nailed, and the metal framing around the windows ran in rivulets down the hillside.  Three of their buildings survived.  The barn and the house had extensive clearing around them, so it’s easy to imagine how they survived, but no one knows why the little chapel remained, as it had no clearing, and it was as vulnerable to fire as any building could possibly be.  Yet, that patch of grass where I had been on my back every night remained untouched, from the cross to the chapel, though the bush that was growing against the chapel had since burned away.

One might think that I would have turned back to regular prayer.  The fact is, I’m just not a very good conversationalist.  Even more so, if I can not maintain such a relationship with God, then how can I do so with complete strangers?  Therefore, I say that this blog is doomed.

I can only hope that my faith is not.