Maybe I'm not quite there but I'm feeling it. Something's happening. The wind blows storms in. Though I cannot see it, I know it is there. I'm not sure how to say what I've been feeling because I'm not exactly sure what it has been.
I know that the wise man thinks before he speaks, but what of the man who thinks of what he thinks? Not the kind of thinking that is overthinking. I'm talking about thinking about why I have come to particular solutions. Why I have I become the way I am? Is this the way that I should be living? What am I doing now that I shouldn't be?
I'm stuck because I'm living here in Rome. Rome, the new Babylon. Where do I turn? All of this technology makes life so much easier. This imperialism allows me to live frugally, but what of those who slave away so that I can do so? I don't want to take advantage of the voiceless. I want to speak for them. My heart is torn. My flesh is worn. I want to write something that will be remembered but don't want to tear the flesh of trees or break others' backs as they bend their knees.
I want to sell it all but yet I've got where do I go? I'm torn, worn, and sometimes it's as if I wish I was never born. I can't say these out loud because you'll worry. Even saying them here is a risk. How will I manage when I'm not provided for? But I'm always provided for. All these things, these thorns, these thickets, they scrape at my soul and I don't know where to turn.
Just hold me for now. Til I realize that I am satisfied in You. I am satisfied in You.
My place is the place You've placed me.