When Lindsey felt like writing something.

In the beginning, there was God.

In the beginning, there were people.

In the beginning, God and people didn’t get along.

In the midway between beginning and now which is to say perhaps if you’ll not contest it, the end (is there ever ending?), God and people still don’t get along.

It rests upon the question of why.

No, what.

No, how.

No, because.

What is humanity’s greatest end?

Who the hell is humanity? I am X. I am a student, a lover, a friend, a teacher, a piece of dust on the side of the road, a singular not plural individual human. It matters. I am not, cannot be, will never be, and never was all humanity. I am a white middle class American. Who am I to answer what humanity’s greatest end is? Who’s to say it stays the same? What about him? Her? HIM? That guy across the continent? The world?

But it says, the Bible says, no Jesus says that I should

Love the Lord with all my heart, soul, and mind.

My mind is not wholeheartedly loving, so how can I love with all of it?

My heart is an organ, pulsing blood and defying the symmetrical valentine’s day ready for the breaking open and waiting for Cinderella or her prince or her princess to come in and define who I am kind of heart.

My soul. Some people call it my gut but they’re fooling themselves, guts are guts, just like hearts are hearts. Some people call it conscience, but isn’t that just a euphemism for soul? S-ou-l. S is serpent like, slither slide slip succumb suck sip syringe sin. S is for secret. Ou is for open space, deep feeling (like in Shakespeare, that great O!), Ou is the reason alone feels so lonely, ou is for okay, own, old, hollow. Ou starts at the back of your throat with a push and ends softly on my almost closed lips. L. L has a lot to say to me: loser, liar, lackadaisical, laugh, lily, listen, lick, liver, lump, life, love. Put it all together and what do you get? Secret open randomness. Is that the soul? Maybe. To love God with all my secret open randomness.

If everyone is their own secret open randomness: known and unknown, unfinished and foreign; and Jesus says to love God with that (plus an imperfect mind full of old Pythagorean theorems bildungsromans memories and a bloody mess of muscle),

Then…

If, in the beginning, there was God. And there were people. And there was imperfection. Then, I think, Jesus says to love God with imperfection.

Which is me.           

Does he deserve me?

Another question for another thought collection.

But I can’t say I find the demands unreasonable.

Seems as though inherent in the recipe of God plus man is a bit of disaster a bit of eccentricity and a bit of love through those polka dotted impressionistic watercolors of my life.

In the beginning, God and people didn’t get along, but they learned to see the beauty in each other’s eccentricities.