Shall I write and if I do what shall I say?

So much of contentedness or dis-contentedness lies within the mind that it is a wonder we are not content all of the time. I mean we have authority over our own minds don’t we?

In fact it does not seem so really.

One small critical comment made can create an avalanche of broken esteem, anger, and even hate that threatens to bury a person should they fail to rise above it.

It is Sunday and I am at work thinking blearily of God and godlessness; of science – the emerging new god of the west and the diminishment of the imagination. If it doesn’t exist than it doesn’t exist is a new mantra making its way through the world.

Sometimes the whole conversation is amusing to me – that we small things in the vast universe would be prideful enough to think we know anything in comparison. At other times I am astonished at what humanity has accomplished in the universal blink of an eye.

Why do we do it? Why do we seek to understand anything? To what end are our efforts to know and understand anything except that we have this time and we must decide what to do with it.

Some of us are interested in what came before and some are interested in what comes next. Still others are merely interested in how to survive the day and get to the next.

I cannot tell if we stand at dawn or dusk. Myself included. Sometimes it is as if we opened our eyes and have yet to know if all the time we have has passed or is still ahead.

What drives us so? Why climb out the sea; why climb out of the tree and build metal shelves and coffee tables to hold our things? Why make cars and planes and HB pencils? Why? What impels us ever forward? To what end are we seeking to achieve?

It is the first question of the great Westminster Catechism?

Q. What is the chief end of man?
A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

I think perhaps we have failed and depending on who you are the answer differs wildly.

Sometimes it feels as if we are children inheriting the family home that goes back generations. We go in with the sense of privilege that we have and immediately begin tearing things down.

“That wallpaper is atrocious…what was mother thinking”

“Dig out the root cellar a bit and lets put in a sauna”

And so it goes as we, more than most who came before us, seek to destroy our past as it is shameful and filled with mythology we would rather forget. We rebuild, we repaint and so on until we encounter the ridiculous wall in the middle of the living room that we absolutely must tear down and “what was great grandpa thinking when he built the place anyway”.

The sledgehammers come out and as the wall falls we realize too late it was, while ugly, still holding the whole place up and the roof comes down upon our self-righteous heads.

I am too isolated. I am becoming a gloomy goat longing for the sun.