You place your hopes in yet another book: the book that is going to expound it all, the book that is going to serve as a manifesto. A book so Christ-infused that light would shine forth from its pages.
You wait for that book. When it comes out, you devour it. Turns out that it’s not bad. You type a few concepts into your files of notes. But your eyes hurt from the tears of frustration that you don’t quite dare to shed. Not realising that this frustration is giving birth to something in you. Your voice maybe. Still too big for you.
(umm... that's a lot of blogging these days. Whatever happened to last week's reverential silence)
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