more thoughts after my recent talk with Joel

Can I really even believe that I am God's workmanship? Is it at all possible that I was created to do good works, that I can do good works?

A cursory glimpse over my life brings to mind flash frames of uselessness, lack of motivation and intent, devoid of passion and purpose, and the whole time steeped in mediocrity. I count myself cursed, because in my assessment I am made only with the desire to do good works, yet without the capacity or ability to realize this desire. Like a fish cruelly brought to life on dry land, I flop about for a short while, in a desperate and vain attempt to land in the water that I have never experienced but know I need.

(Gills don't lie.)

A fish out of water is good for nothing until it is finally, mercifully killed and eaten. And that is all it's good for. I flirt with the notion that my prompt death would be a greater service to the world than to prolong my sad flopping about. I almost dare the Lord to do it. "Come on, God... Don't you want to?" He doesn't. God as I know Him, in this context, is either an unspeakably cruel boy playing with a cosmic sandbox, or greater and more wonderful and more sovereign and more alive than any being that's dreamt of in my philosophy.