Freaks, Geeks and Deranged Muppets

Crazy muppet  Ever have one of those nights? Ever have one of those days? Ever have one of those years?

How about an entire life?

It's come down to a single question: Do I trust God?

Hold on to a thing or two, and life might maintain some semblance of sanity.

Hold on to a thing or two and life begins to decay. Dang.

Safety? Or crazy trust vomiting in projectile bursts around the universe while hurtling through life at breakneck speed?

I'm not your sociable type. "They" (oh yes, there is a 'they') say I'm "mind blind". In social situations or in choices concerning communication, I have a heavy dark scarf wrapped tightly about my eyes. I compensate…a  lot. But trust me, life isn't a bowl of cherries. But seeing as a bowl of cherries being compared to life is something I find illogical and unpoetic anyway, it doesn't matter. Ummm… how about a barrel of monkeys? (why are they in the barrel again?)

For a long time, I begged for safety. I lived so far out in left field that all I wanted was normal in the most normal, boring sense of the term.

Guess what?

Still in left field.

Always will be.

With my nose in a book and my hands on the street, with dreams of freeing slaves and conversing with invisible friends, with a rigid personal space but a child's innocent touch, with the madness to think I might be of use to God and the insanity to totally let go and vomit that trust on His flyaway journey, I bow before the Lord Most High, give myself to His loving service… just none of you touch my book collection. I'd hate to have to pulverize you.

And if I reach out just to touch your face or lean into your arms, it's out of the most pure and innocent hues that humanity can colour across its canvass. Please don't pull away. Help me feel human. I ache to help you feel likewise. (Just don't stop me from stimming or twirling my hair… otherwise I will have to disintegrate you. Catch 22… but God's working on it.)

I am scared. My heart aches to reach out with the charisma of Billy Graham and compassion of Mother Theresa. But that blindfold remains. I can't see. I know what's there… I feel it… hear it… smell it… taste it… envision it… figure out patterns around it… dream of a world without it… talk small hands through it… but I can't see it.

Lord, you made me crazy… crazy like You. And crazy trust will create crazy outcomes… and crazy kingdom growth. I trust like crazy. (Too much crazy?)

I will touch on the cheek the filthy man on the street corner, hold the child in the alley, make a clean bed for the woman on the run. 

Watch.

Watch what we think is 'normal' be bashed to bits and Jesus flourishes in the brothels and streets and fields of the world… and in the strange eyes of a mentally blind girl whose head is just a wee off-set.

Just you watch.

As for Jesus…

… make crazy enough to whisper: "Hello".

PS. That freakish muppet in the picture above? At first it was me… but now I am totally convinced it's God. He's got His hand on the plunger and ready to holler: "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Jack kerouac

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