I'm back from camp.
And what does that feel like?
Well...I suppose it's...lonely? A little bit?
Wistful.
Restless.
This past summer, for the first time in I-don't-know-how-long, I felt like I had purpose. Like I was needed.
And what we were doing, that small team of us, just keeping the wheels of ministry spinning, felt so esoteric and insular, yet so universal.
Now that I have returned, I'm living at my parents' house because I can't afford to live anywhere else.
As grateful as I am to have somewhere to stay, it feels cramped and renders me restless.
I can't stop beating myself up about it.
And I'm searching for a job, as it feels like I'm essentially always doing.
Beating myself up about that is very difficult to avoid.
I just can't stop feeling like an enormous failure.
Longing to be back at camp is just another in a lengthy laundry list of grass-is-always-greener longings, I suppose.
Perhaps I need to pray for the grace and courage to accept myself the way I am, for what and where I am, because there is no other version of me.
This is it.
[I'm a 35-year-old Emo Kid. I do realize this.]
