You're more real then, the ground I'm standing on...

It's 11:43 and while I'm complaining about how chapped my lips are, people are dying. Great.
Yesterday I learned that one dollar gives a kid in Africa clean water for a year.
Why is it that us spoiled American's have to have something in return when we give something. I'm not saying that everyone is like that. But in general. Most of us are.

Unfortunately there are a lot of those people in the church.
Why is it that the church, the body of Jesus, is selfish?! Why is it that pride and dignity kill off people physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It annoys me.
I really want some celery.
Jesus washed the feet of His disciples, He stooped low to pick the crappiest people up out of the dirt. And yet when we say we are aiming to be like Jesus we only try to build ourselves up into this weird looking churchy, pride consumed robot. Once again. I'm not saying that's how EVERYONE is. But generally, and in the broad sense, we are.
To be like Jesus we have to forget about us. It does us no good whatsoever to be all about ourselves.
Love is selfless and will give anything to benefit others. Jesus is the pure and holy definition of love. To be in the likeness of Jesus, we must grasp love. Do you understand?
Love means... Going to someplace like...
http://activewater.org/
And donating even just a dollar to make sure a kid doesn't die from dirty water.

If thoughts define me, then You're inside me...

I just cracked my neck. Cool.

I was listening to All Creatures by David Crowder (listen to it.) yesterday in the car. And I kept imagining the landscape twisting and contorting to a glorious masterpiece to honor the King. You know. Like... Something from Avatar. Or Alice in Wonderland. But cooler and in real life. I almost started crying at the beauty of it all because it wasn't just me imagining something. It was God working through me. In the weirdest way imaginable.

You know when you need to explain something you're feeling but... You just can't.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I feel quite confused and broken. All there is to life is to simply press farther into the grasping love of Christ. But getting to the point where we can just walk into it is the most difficult thing ever. I'm not ready whatsoever, yet I can't wait till I'm standing at the gate of heaven. Can you imagine? No you can't. I can't either. I have a wild imagination. Like honestly. I do. It's my goal to have the imagination of a five year old. Jesus works in your imagination better than anything your brain will ever process. ANYWAYS.

It's one of those nights where How He Loves by John Mark McMillan is on repeat and everything inside of me feels tired and wants to be revived and lively and my hands can't wait to hold Jesus'. I think I could sing all night and be happy. But I can't. Because everyone in the house is asleep and would punch me in the face.

I guess what I'm trying to get out in this overly excessive contraption of a blog post is that God loves me more than I know. And that He doesn't care what I feel like, or what I think of Him, or how I'm doing in this life, because He is so consumed with the actions, thoughts, and the reality of Him loving this infant-like, pride-consumed, wretchedly dignified soul of mine. That's what I feel.

I pray wholeheartedly that Jesus utilizes my imagination for something more of Him.
Wouldn't that be nifty?

I just cracked my neck again.

Celery is the bomb.