Real

I like that I have a blog--until I go back and actually read it--at which point I say to myself, "What the hell was I thinking? And why did I think what I was saying at that time was all deep and sentimental?" Quite frankly, I am often embarrassed by my own thoughts, or maybe just my lack of eloquence.

I went to a concert tonight for this guy named Thad Cockrell. He's a high-voiced folksy country singer-songwriter type who carries a particular depth to his art that adds a very real texture to his words and demeanor. It's as if he were on stage singing songs more for his own sanity than anything.

He talks about Jesus in one song, and I thought about how a lot of folks (especially where I come from) would think he was an artist to celebrate even if his music were shitty (which it isn't) just because he gave a shout out to this religious figure.

...Which made me ponder my own allegiance to Jesus and the Christian faith and why I believe the things that I do. And, at the end of the day, I do not have faith because the historical evidence points to the existence of a God man and the accuracy of his miracles. Nor do I have faith because I was always taught it's a good thing to exercise. I'm fairly certain I have faith in the existence of something higher than myself simply because I want to. I want to believe there's a better hope than what's around me and what's inside of me and that one day all of the broken parts of myself and this world will be made whole. And that's really it. Sometimes that's all I've got to get me out of bed in the morning.