Reflecting.

In my journal, I repeatedly mention how much I love to revisit past entries. I'll sit for hours reading my own writing as if it's the hottest thing on the bookstore shelves. It's such a blessing to be able to look back at how God is changing me. I can't imagine a life without this relationship.

I don't know where I come up with half the things I write. I surprise myself sometimes, and then when I think about it a little more, I'm not surprised at all because I recognize God's outpouring of love and creativity and art through me. The written word can be art, and art is an expression of who I am, who God is, and the love passed from him to me and through me to others.

Anyway.

Yesterday I missed the train to go home. Some of this blog was written while I was waiting at McDonald's across the street from the Jefferson Park station because it was 5 degrees outside and I refused to wait an hour out there for the next train.

I know I shouldn't care what people think of me, but I wonder what they think.

Am I funny looking?
Normal looking?
Do they think my hat looks silly?
Do they think my pants look funny stuffed into my boots like they are?
Do they find it odd that I'm always journaling?

I never see other people writing. I'm always the only one. Most places have at least one. I guess I'm always it, so I don't get to see others. Or maybe I'm so absorbed in self, my thoughts, my dreams, my observations, that I fail to notice those around me. I don't think that's really true of me, though. I feel pretty attuned to the people around me.

I read My Utmost For His Highest by Oswald Chambers pretty much everyday. I'm not sure if I disagree or if I'm intensely challenged or just oppositional. The last couple days talked about being called by God. It said that the call upon our lives by God has nothing to do with our temperaments or our plans or our personal desires. I understand that I am nothing in comparison to my God. I fully accept that God knows me better than I know myself. I accept that there is a bigger picture, and I am a mere pixel in the mural. I am here to be used by God for his glory. I get all those things. God knows what is best for me and sometimes what I want is only going to harm me. Okay, sure. Got it.

But I can't grasp right now that God gives no consideration to the uniqueness of my personality and temperament and desires. I get that I have to deny myself - as in, my flesh, my sin - and follow Jesus. But what about the rest of who I am that has been redeemed? I can't fathom the idea that I am God's puppet, directed and controlled and completely ignored otherwise.

I can't even fully communicate all of the thoughts I have about this.

Maybe I disagree with Mr. Oswald Chambers.
Maybe I'm just rebelling against God's sovereignty.
Maybe I'm stubbornly refusing to accept this truth, because it is my nature to oppose.

Either way, the only thing I can do is express my discontent, communicate my confusion. If I don't tell God I'm struggling, will he necessarily teach me?

If I don't ask the questions, is he going to answer them?