That Time Again

It seems for all my attempts to be good at this blog thing it always seems to escape me. No matter how many times I tell myself that I will be writing more frequently, those posts where I pledge that come months apart and all I have to show for it. So I feel I should write again. Still not sure why. The urge to write doesn't seem to stay for very long, but I love to do it. It feels right when I do. Just can't seem to sustain that feeling. Maybe I'm not meant to. Maybe this isn't my calling but merely my place to vent. The place that I come to every so often to keep myself from imploding. So it's that time yet again. To release the pressure before my world blows up in my face. So I sit at the computer again. Struggling to find the words that seem right. I find myself a week removed from a week of solitude with God at Falls Creek and find myself longing to return. See that's the problem with camp. You spend time with God and everything feels wonderful and then it's over. Everything that you felt right about throughout the week ends and you go back home. Instead of doing the same things that you did at camp back home, you go back to life. You sink back into the old routines. Instead of working with all you are and working toward the things that you were called to at camp, you spend all your time wishing that you were back there, instead of bringing those feelings to where you are. This is the problem that I face now. I want to be back there, with the people that I have grown to consider family. With the kids that I have literally watched grow up. Instead I am back in Waco, with the people that I have also come to call family. Should they bother to read it, many of the people who do indeed read this will be the people I am referring to. The problem is they weren't there and they don't know the experiences that I had during that week at Falls Creek. Some of them were halfway around the world at the time, others were with their family. None of them however, were in Davis, Oklahoma. Except the ones that were with me. The ones that I already miss. The ones that God has called me away from, though my heart remains there with them. So I write again, once again rambling incessantly about things that aren't meant to change. So I write to write, because I have nothing else to do. There is no appealing the call of God. There is no going back and giving the whole listening thing another shot. There is only forward motion, with the occasional (or frequent) backslide. There is only the life that we are called to. In my case, the one that called me from where my heart remained. I pray that I can return there again someday. For now, I can only write and wait.

Pastor Coco