Jack

I am completely moved to write again. Inspired partially by my friend who is blogging his training and preparation for a deployment to Afghanistan and partially by my need to figure out what it is I am on this earth for. I know, right? So cliche. But truly I am a confused person maybe because of all the responsibility in my life right now. I feel more connected to what I do each day more than I have since high school. This is a good thing, however, I would really like to earn some money again someday and here I am with a second chance at choosing a rewarding career, one that falls into that, "choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life"- confucius, category. I think I am a writer but of course that doesn't mean one can just go out and get paid to be a writer. One must write the piece that gets published, the one they were supposed to write. So I have more time on my hands with a first grader in school; so I will write. About everything. We will see what happens.

I dreamt about my old church last night and I remember being in the sanctuary and I think I was at a wedding but I think it was mine. I am not sure. I remember getting a lot of attention. I have been thinking about my faith a lot lately and yesterday I was remembering my first tastes of Christianity. My Beginning as a Follower of Christ. I remember Jack Carmichael. He is one of my earliest literal memories. I can go back in my mind and sense an environment of calm love and complete safety but my first real memory in the church is of Jack. I am told I would sit in the pew with Mom and Dad and just watch him as a toddler, eyes wide, enthralled by his movement and volume. I remember him in his robe. He had a cloth around his neck that changed with the seasons. His microphone was little and clipped to the collar and when he would pause you could hear his breathing, his heart pumping more inspiration through him so he could share some more. He moved across the floor, not on the altar, but down the stairs on the floor in front of us. When he lifted his arms the sleeves of the robe made angel wings and he would look to the sky, hands up and raise his voice to ensure we knew exactly of Who he spoke. I understood, even then, it was the Spirit's presence that made my heart pound and grow large just like it is right now as I write this, as I recall watching someone doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing at exactly the time they were supposed to be doing it. I want to be There.

*Eunice*