jonah Complex

There's a whole strand of disappointments that have wound through the beginning of this week.

Up until last week, I was overly confident in my control of things.

Things. Things. Things.

Seconds and hours, and all those things that somehow added into a past for my Mr. David Vincent Goodwin, resident of 1400 Bemis, Grand Rapids, MI, student of three years and one half of a semester at Calvin College, son of Karen and Lloyd, and older brother to Julia and Natalie.

But what am I really?

About a year ago, I knew it all. And while all of my adventures as of late have been something, where does my identity fit into all of this?

The weekend before this week was really wild. On Friday, I spent a lot of time with a bunch of people I was very happy to see. The next day, I cleaned sheep skins with Alexander, helped in cleaning the house, and then went with the same people as the night before to explore Art Prize. Sunday flew by as well. Church was useless, only redeemed by a great breakfast with some good friends.

And then yesterday. Seriously, where does one begin? There was the frigid rain, the numerous mental mix-ups making me late, a healthy load of house tensions, a mis-communication ending in my feeling rejected, and a total stranger challenging my running from God. Does God want me so badly? Or am I just stuck in a place where I can't escape busybodies?

I don't deny the completely wonderful smell of Autumn that fills my lungs everytime I step outside. And yesterday Henry was kind enough to go with me to the Hookah lounge and just listen. There was healing somewhere or another in the midst of those experiences.

But it is never easy to hear that the person who was once a massive part of your identity is now moving on to become part of someone else's. And that kind of hurts.

It certainly only rehashed my wrestlings with God from the day before. If I ever become a Christian again, I'm changing my name to Israel. Because God's hand is reaching for my hip, and I'm holding him until morning.