the dance of the ink riddled fingers

trivia night

Posted in heroes of mine, how was your day? by enisea on 20/05/2010

She insisted on lighting up before we left the Maccas car park and I tried to protest, but after a year or so having returned to menthols, she had become apathetic about considering my loathe for cigarettes.  I had settled into the passenger’s seat but I climbed over the gear box and took the driver’s seat. The door was open and she leant on the commodor parallel to hers; her default conversations ensued.  But this time, I had heard her drunk misadventures and repeat stories for 3 hours and had tired of tolerating them – now I was interrupting and trying to make my irritation evident.  I had abandoned subtle attempts at meaningful conversation and was now bombing interruptions of abrupt and confrontational questions.

Defenses started to rise as my insistence on confrontation persisted.  I was desperately trying to identify the stubborn pea under thick superficial mattresses that so withheld comfort and peace from a princess close to me.  We burrowed through so many questions we could have organised a trivia night.  Yet, though we were nearly yelling at each other trying to force our understandings down the others’ throat I felt a welling serenity. I’ve found her again. We’re being honest again. We’re not playing “good” again. The engine was off as soon as we arrived before my driveway and there she beat against the house that I’d built.  There, she questioned my existence, my reasons, my beliefs and understandings. There, she dared me to defend my God and “his absence”.  We provoked each other to thought and forced times of frantic consideration having caught ourselves in a friendly fire of such heavy divergence.

Tonight confirmed that she is mine to love, and I am hers to question.  She stood her ground and made sure to shake mine up a little.  Why do I live like this? What am I trying to achieve? Why did God do this? Why didn’t God do that? I felt my theology and justifications were a tad hollow and now needed much filling.  “This conversation is not over!” she beckoned after me, “I wasn’t ready for this, next time I’ll bring my A-game”. I smiled, “Nor I, I wasn’t ready for this. Likewise”. Closing the car door we exchanged brow-furrowed “I LOVE YOU”s and parted ways no-doubt with minds abuzz.

My hair and dad’s jacket smell of smoke. My foundations are in need of more concrete.

I have no excuses, I should’ve been ready. I need to have these answers on hand and in heart. Why am I a Christian and why do I fill my commitments with church stuffs? Am I truly aware of salvation, how, why, now?  What are my understandings of His nature and how do I justify living (or seeking to live) for such a God?  How long will I procrastinate appropriating actions to prove God’s love for those within my vicinity? Who, when, what, why? How, how, how? WWJD?

Will I finish last Friday’s assignment tomorrow and will I get a pass for it?

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