In my limited travels, I’ve noticed children around the world know how to enjoy water. The less-inhibited the culture, the less-inhibited the children. I suppose running around a jungle as a child gives one an elevated sense of freedom. Do they also posess an elevated sense of beauty or is it too familiar? The colors near the equator seem brighter to me. I wonder if that’s true.
Naked children squealing in water: I expect this from the equator.
However, even in some otherwise conservative cultures, such as the recently-former Soviet Union, I watched parents strip their children down, boys and girls alike, to underpants, to enjoy the water in public fountains. It was delightful. And I thought, “Where would I see this in the States?”
I long for the uninhibited nakedness of childhood.
I just wish I could strip down emotionally from time to time without it being a big event.
Does having an over-inflated sense of self cause us to self-protect? Or is it just fear, too much doubt, too many tender places from the times we stood bare and were flailed?
I probably am a bigger fan of my body than myself. I think I could more easily strip down and jump in water than strip down and speak words that reaveal what’s truly inside of me.
Sex and Honesty: or, Intimacy with a capital I.
Honestly, I’d like to be super amazing at both.
I don’t think it’s an accident Holy Spirit is often represented by water. The parallels are rich. He comforts. He carries us. He’s wild, untameable, life-giving.
He’s also best enjoyed naked.
Getting honest with God is the only way to become more than People Who Chat Over Brunch. It’s clear in all the stories I’ve read about him, he didn’t set this whole thing in motion for social banter.
His wild ride is about Being Known.
Him + Us = TLA.
It’s The Epic Love Story.
And we’ve tamed it down to a PG movie. Maybe a little making out, then pan the camera away. Where’s the juice? Where are the people running for the water, throwing off their clothes? Where’s the uninhibited passionate pursuit of a God we desire?
I have no idea. I sure haven’t got it. I used to sizzle every time he touched me. I used to get distracted by his eyes and his voice. Now, I feel stood up so many times, I don’t even know if he remembers my name. That’s unfair, I know. He was with me just this morning. But I miss him. Braving it without him seems pretty impossible.
I also want to be known by people, although it’s hard to see. I want to be known when I’m alone, and I imagine how it’s going to go down, (and it seems real nice in my head) and then I get with people and start talking about the eggs and toast.
Me in My Imgination and Me the People See don’t have much in common. However, we both are filled with longing, drowning in longing to be exact.
Longing to be: Uninhibited and Lost and Wild. Squealing in the water in the jungle. Or just crying openly with a friend. Today, rather than brave it, I run for a towel.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll leave the towel hanging in a tree.