Hrmph.

Yesterday I was on the worship team at Hillview. Since I switched churches eighteen months ago, had been slow and shy about making myself available until this fall. In late summer two thousand eleven I threw the doors open to the inevitable deluge of involvement, and asked them to plug me in wherever they needed me, on any musical instrument or in any role where I could be of service. Last month I played bass, two weeks ago I led worship, and this past week I was the lone BGV. As a rhythm guitarist by nature, it's very exposing to stand armed only with a mic and my awkward body language. I become very self-aware. I am a seventies Neil Diamond trying in vain not to be corny. What should I do? Smile? Look around? I tend to keep my eyes closed or trained on the music sheet or Jim, the worship leader. Anything else feels unseemly.

Breaking of bread services can be intense, spiritually. The townhall-style sharing time is meant for worship by means of drawing attention to Christ in remembrance and oratory meditation before we all partake of the symbolic bread and "wine." (Since there is a fluctuating AA contingent at church, we don't use actual wine.) We tend to share from our hearts, stripping our convictions bare for the bracing truth of it. I often feel as though I should share something really coherent and inspired otherwise not talk, but inevitably I think of something worth adding, and more often than not, I stand up and speak my piece. Yesterday was a particularly grueling day for me, as I have been arguing a bit with God in recent weeks, and I haven't always taken his side. Taking God's side is my job, and while I was repentant by the time Sunday rolled around, I certainly didn't feel "prayed up" and prepared to share a Spirit-filled, worshipful attitude with the other believers. I hesitated for a long time, not wanting to share out of self, but eventually it became clear to me that it was okay, perhaps even meant to happen. So I stood up, hanging my head a little, and shared about some of my demons - particularly those hovering around the learning disability testing I had Friday. The theme of the conversation had been about the ascension, which is an unusual topic, but for me it was timely. I have thought recently about whether Jesus really could be bodily somewhere in the universe, preserved against suffocation and decay by some kind of untraceable dimensional pocket of livable atmosphere - coordinates unknown - and how scientifically preposterous that sounds. But the scientifically preposterous shouldn't be that astounding to a believer of miracles, particularly considering that I have already seen the logically preposterous happen in lives around me. I shared how I sometimes reason my way into logical corners. The rules of logic must delimit based on the information given, but I forget not to assume the universality of my own sphere of data. How very little information I have, compared to the totality of what can be known! It should be commonplace to me, that quite possible things should seem impossible, as commonplace to me as aliens and time-travel are commonplace to a Doctor Who companion on television.

Several people have since thanked me for sharing that bit about my limits and how much more information God holds. I was surprised. My paradigm says that unless I have been particularly holy this week, God won't be disposed toward using anything I have to say. But that is a false assumption and I should know it by now.

Dan took me to his new pet coffee shop, which is unfortunately right around the corner from CoSo. We talked about his leaving CoSo, and the shop he's going to start. The coffees were overpriced, but not moreso than CoSo. The music was good, and I thought extensively about possibly curating Dan's coming coffee shop as an art director.

I spent the evening trying to understand what to say in a personal statement, not content that the overmasticated shred of prose that I had ready was really what a law school admissions officer would want to read. I made some small progress, but felt very frustrated, and fought a lot of my angers and doubts about the way two thousand eleven had turned out. I went on a two mile run - and it was a good run - to leave it all out there in the cold. But it all followed me into the shower. I may or may not have stood under the hot water with my hands on my face for a long time, before falling asleep praying prayers of frustration on clean sheets.