i hate this tent

he just wants to rest with us.

that’s his whole point. the whole deal. from the fall in the garden of eden until Jesus returns to earth, he wants to gather us to himself, to be with us.

to be with us.

to be with us.


i hate this tent has been my thought of the day. i was so fortunate (blessed) to have time to sit and read today and just soak in and soak up truth - about God, his word, his love - and the thought i’m left with is, i hate this tent. this covering. this flesh (but i don’t mean the word ‘flesh’ as it’s used in the church). the outsides. everything outside of my essence, my soul.

Jesus was who he was because he was unencumbered by a tent - he just lived every moment from his truest self. he was God and that poured out of him, purely, untainted. God grabs the hands of the dirty and only argues when it’s worth it and doesn’t react because his feelings are hurt. and none of those impulses (to act like God) were restrained by this ‘tently’ awareness that others might look at him weird.

i hate this tent. this tent that never wants to listen and is always distorting my truest self. i am a soul, trapped in this damn tent, created to demonstrate God in a way that my lemon tree and the cheetah and Tuscany and rock and roll cannot do, because i was created in His image. and my soul worships God, spirit to spirit. but when my soul interacts with this world, it is communicated through the tent of my skin, arms, eyelashes, voice, dance moves, red pen, handshake. and i hate how it gets disfigured, like a finger painting. you get the idea but there was so much more that could have been shown. this tent is an awful way of translating my soul.