my life is marked by potential.
sadly, potential is greatness in its formative, pre"great" stage...
it's the egg before the swan,
it's the promise before the fulfillment,
it's birthing the wind - over and over again
(as the prophet isaiah would say).
i'm sorta sick and tired of it.
ricky helps me focus it all in,
but i don't see much progress myself.
one day i want to spend hours sewing my future babies wadrobe,
then i want to make wedding invites and graphic design work,
then i want to read and read and read and study every commentary
on the major prophets,
then i want to make music,
and the list goes on (in all its phases and forms).
but reality is:
i wake up and drive an hour to work, usually listening to NPR,
and fill hours 8-4 with work and what not,
to again drive home to the sounds of san diego.
there we find a bed to be made, dishes to be done, and a meal to be cooked.
when it all settles, i just want to talk with ricky, who crawls into the door
2 hours after the sun has already hidden its face, and still has 4 papers to write.
i squeeze in reading the Word and scraping up signs of life within the jar of my soul.
sometimes we wonder about our dreams...
or the prophetic promises,
or that little seed within we've been watering for years.
but i remember, back in january, when i said goodbye
to the one place i ever felt at home,
and the one people i fully came alive within,
when i was running amuck 6 days a week within a small, windowless restaraunt,
there was this little tune i use to sing as ricky read page after page about
islam politics and foreign affairs.
"david, he hung out in caves,
and joseph was in dungeons,
but i will sing your praise."
so the walls are slimey rocks
and the chains are reasons to rejoice.
for He has not forgotten me.
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