Only an angel could imagine it.
Sometimes it’s easy to believe that I’ve gone a little nuts. The things I think, the way I think about them, the feelings that thinking creates… they can all be a little overwhelming.
An example? I can do that. I’ve been thinking about something I read in James’ “Varieties…”, of a man who had a spiritual moment, an awakening, who described his mere walking as worship, with one foot striking the ground with a cry of “Glory!” and the other with a shout of “Amen!” I’ve been thinking about how happy he must have been, how satisfied with every moment, and I find I’m cynical. I wonder what it is he’s run away from. I wonder how awful he feels he must have been.
I’m suspicious of people who experience “awakenings”, those AA born-agains, those mid-life crisis women and men, the cocaine-Christians, the bottom-of-the-barrel Baptists. I believe in their conversions like I believe in “blacking out”. Yeah, it’s possible, but since it hasn’t happened to me…
Oh… but to feel that in my heart – I yearn for it. Glory with every right step, praise with what’s left! Could it be legit? Could that satisfaction be something I can feel? It seems I feel so little as it is; something that big, something to set me on my knees, who would rebel? Only an angel could imagine it.