bat-blind, yet chosen

I’m thinking with David tonight … in the words of Peterson … “in my insignificant, sheep-keeping obscurity, I am chosen.”  For he chose us in him before the creation of the world.

Oh, it’s mysterious lamplit evenings, here in the galaxy, one after the other.  It’s one of those nights when I wander from window to window looking for a sign.  But I can’t see.  Terror and a beauty insoluble are a ribband of blue woven into the fringes of garments of things both great and small.  … Until one by one, by the blindest of leaps, we light on the road to these places, we must stumble in darkness and hunger.  I turn from the window.  I’m blind as a bat, sensing only from every direction the echo of my own thin cries. ~a. dillard

Last night, reverie
    this morning tears, confusion
          Bat – blind, yet chosen

Listen to your life.  See it for the fathomless mystery that it is.  In the boredom of pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness:  touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace. ~ buechner

Peterson again … the sanctuary is essential, but it isn’t the primary location for the day-by-day cultivation and practice of spirituality, the Holy Spirit shaping the Christ-life in us. 

That shaping, cultivating, molding … it comes in and through the ordinary, everyday-ness of living.  Reverie, tears, work, laughter, play … it’s in living in the present that we work out our salvation.  

And that could be scary … except …  “in my insignificant, sheep-keeping obscurity, I am chosen.” 

         the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
         accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
         in it surrendering
         finds its continuing.
~moore

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