So, how about Russia in three days.

I've been reading the book of John recently. About a year ago I read it all in one sitting at the recommendation of a friend. I was amazed as I watched things unfold. All these miracles and healings; so many amazingly tender moments; so many difficult and stirring teachings. Reading it again this time I'm mainly seeing the teachings. There are such long sections of Jesus speaking. I guess it's that way in all the gospels (sermon on the mount, hello) but in John Jesus is totally putting it out there. He's not telling parables, he's speaking about himself. He's saying all this crazy stuff that's totally pissing people off. Again and again people are picking up stones and ready to kill him but he slips away. This time I'm seeing a strong and complex Jesus. It's interesting.

I realized something today. Look how worked up I got over that book. I was so stirred to learn about something new, so pissed off at injustice. Why aren't I as changed by the book. Interesting question. The bible speaks even more explicitly about justice and love and the way we should live. I should be more stirred.

Spent 7 hours today painting. If I see any more yellow I'm going to scream.

Tonight has to be the slowest night ever. It might have something to do with the fact that I got home from work an hour or more earlier than I have most of this week. But still, the night has just been crawling. I finished my book, which basically managed to hold my attention and piss me off for the last two weeks. I'm still not completely sure how much I enjoyed it. But then again, I kept reading it so I must not have disliked it. Maybe it's just impossible to enjoy a book like The Poisonwood Bible. And if your heart wasn't breaking over it, then you probably would have never bothered with it's 600+ pages...and we're not talking Harry Potter 600 pages. I don't really feel like going into the plot of the book, but basically it traces some of the history of the Congo between 1959 up to the 80s or 90s. You see the injustice and the pain and the differences. And you see how the US proceeded to screw yet another struggling nation over. It's funny what I've realized about this nation in the past year since I've actually left it. It took a US history class in Australia for me to learn that the whole Vietnam thing was a ton our fault. Why the hell are we toppling foreign leaders and setting up ones that we like? As if we know anywhere near enough about what it takes to lead the people of Vietnam, or the Congo, or Iraq for that matter. Just because what we have here works (sort of) for us, there's no guarantee that it will work in another culture. Do we understand hundreds, if not thousands of years of cultural differences? Things we understand as "gospel truth," completely obvious, might not be so in other places. Perhaps somewhere behind everything there is an inkling of good intentions. Even so, so much has been lost. As if a newly elected leader in the Congo is really going to pose some Communist threat against the rest of the world. I think a corrupt, selfish leader (aka the one we set up) is much more dangerous to the world than any self-elected leader of the Congo would have been. Utterly ridiculous. I need to do some reading up on this history.

Enough of that for now. Too much time on my hands tonight. I'm getting lonely I think. It always works out that way during summer. No one my own age is around. I don't really have friends around here to spend time with so I'm left with myself and my thoughts. Few outlets, few breaks, few escapes. The same memories always come flooding back when I'm at home. It makes me wonder if I'm over-emphasizing certain periods of my life. Do I need to let go and move on? Are these things to dwell over? I am thankful for those years. But in five years will I look back on this time as much? Will I see it as another pivotal moment? I feel like so many of my actions lack intention or consequence right now. I might as well be floating through my life. But I know I this feeling can't be true. Here I stand (or sit rather), 10 days away from three weeks in Russia. This isn't nothing, this is very much something. See, too much time to reflect.

But it's not too much. I hate it when I don't have this time. At school I feel so cramped and strung out at the same time. I wish I could find the balance between the two. But really, there are a lot of times I feel just as alone and without an outlet there as I do here. Maybe a byproduct of all the different compartments my life has been put in to...all the places, all the people, all the different lessons and roles and likes and dislikes. It's not just the obvious physical things that make me into fragmented pieces. I do it to myself. I am one way around one person and another way around another. God stays confined to my bedroom where I read and pray, and occasionally makes his way to this chair when I am having a deep conversation with a computer screen (sometimes there is even a person on the other end). Creative musician comes out very rarely these days. Intellectual thinker stays, well, in my own intellect pretty much...especially without a classroom for an outlet right now. Even so, that part of me has become more silent in the classroom over the past year.

In my paper journal I keep expressing the same fear to God. This is it: someday I'll wake up and realize I've done nothing with my life. Or maybe I will have done something, but the whole time I've only been getting by. Maybe to others it will look fantastic, but I'll be left hollow, wondering what good any of it did. I'm afraid I won't finish the race. That I'm not committed. The the immaturity I feel even now isn't just me being young but is who I am and is something I will never overcome. Maybe I thought I'd have a lot more figured out by now. I know I'll never be perfect. I guess I just hope somewhere along the line I'm better. Not just better, but exactly who I'm supposed to be.