The world stretches out in high contrast. The leaves, winking at me through the mist of eyes shifting to focus, are like the first look of morning–glasses newly placed on bridge of nose.
My facets shift and clink. Same patterns. Different stimuli.
I’d like to think I’ve learned a thing or two along the way, but I fear an inflated sense of self-revelation may be in play. Paul has been reminding me about the role of grace over the works of our own hands. I was not his initial audience, but the thing about truth is that it resonates in all ages and to all peoples. Even to me, a Gentile learning the speech of the sons and daughters of Abraham.
My thoughts click and grind, weighed down by foreign paradigms.
I feel like a mechanism contained unto myself. Unable to explain my internal state. Aware that grammatics do not make for thrilling conversation for those not also wrestling with their mysteries. This is the most difficult academic pursuit I have faced thus far. I pray for renewed strength and focus.