I suppose that I have some answers, some thoughts, some rantings as responses to what I wrote before. Man is a fickle child. He is so easily torn to pieces and yet it is so hard to realize that this is, truthfully, a good thing. We get close because getting close to another is dangerous. And that is, I have seen now, absurdity in its clearest form. It makes no rational sense to give part of ourselves to someone. It is weakness to give, weakness to expose yourself, and absolute weakness to love something else that you cannot control. Why would you ever tell someone that you know could hurt you with words, with betrayal, secrets that would destroy you if they were given out? It makes no sense. And perhaps this has been the strangest thing to me. While all of these things make no sense. While logically, it is most advantageous, most personally beneficial (it would appear) to wall up your heart, to put it deep into the earth, to wrap it in some socks and carve out a vault in the corner of the bedroom floor for safekeeping, it is the most foolish thing possible. Quite simply put, life is worth nothing without loving someone illogically. Irrational love is what makes life Life. Looking into eyes that you know might never be your's, holding a hand that you are willing to cross a country for, is what makes you not human, but a living, laughing, image of God. Rationality does not define the world. Rationality attempts to make sense of the world, and finds nothing to make sense. Irrational love attempts at nothing, and knows everything. It says, "Look at how little sense this makes. Look at how different we are." And while rationality would call, "The End", the irrational, laughing life says, "I love you. And here, this is my heart. It could be your's one day." And while it could all change, I know that it is good. I have learned that Time moves, that people change, that the things we promised can change and the hopes we assured ourselves of, while still being hopes, can be moved and cautioned and tempered by the life that is always being. There are miles between people. There are states and lives and years that separate possibilities from real actualities. But even so, to love beyond and in the face of what is is the truest, clearest act of being a Man that I know of.
And so I choose to be broken. I choose to be hurt, to be confused and to struggle with God. I will be a Man. I will wrestle with Him. I will have my hip broken. And I will cry to Him from the dust, cry for him to stay true to His Promise. I will pray like a lunatic and love without sense. And yet the hardest part is knowing that, so often, it will be I who does the hurting. I will be the cold steel that rips through love and tears with dull hate at living hearts. But I have chosen to get dirty. And this is part of the fight. I choose to be covered in the mud, the dry dirt made wet with my own tears, my cries for forgiveness and forgetfulness. And so I'll strip to the waist. Give me the joy to fight You till I am broken, O God. Give me the unimaginable. Give me the patience for the greatest promise I have not yet seen.
