I decided to share a post today from February 2nd, 2007 when I was at college:
February 2nd, 2007
In the basement, here at college, I started drawing a lamp. It was radiant, being the only source of light in a dimly – but beautifully – lit, and inspiring basement. The shapes started to take form on the paper, but the proportions were too big. Conseqently, it ended up being split on the front of one page and the back of another. There was a lamp, a soda can, and an the arm of a sofa, sketched on the page. Soon, thereafter, a letter took form, followed by a word, and concluding with a half page filled with ink, unaddressed. It would have appeared that it was written to a specific individual, but purpose could never grab them. This is what lays next to the bottom half of the split image:
“I am in this picture, but may never be seen. I am looking, sitting behind the arm. Even when I go away, here I will always be looking. I am in this picture, and you may never see me, but you need to know – have faith – that I am frozen with it, even when I appear to be non-existant. The cushions still fold under my weight, although you can’t feel the fabric. The light still shines onto this page, even though it has been reduced to ink. If I drew my foot would you know it was me on the other side? What if I reached out my hand? My Heart? I am here, what if I reached out nothing? Would you meet me on the other side? This page will always speak, because I will ALWAYS be here to speak the words I have just spoken. Remember them.”
Maybe I was speaking to myself or someone else, but maybe it was neither. Maybe God was speaking to me, through me.