Chunks taken out of my own body. Why does he both want me to write and want me dead?

I don't have a narrative so much of what was safe hemmed me in. I have to be both happy and sad and I have an audience.  Everything has cooled but I have less skills and less confidence. As I write I want to hurl the tablet. I want to be separate and I want to read the Bible in a way that isn't just a book version.

Some thoughts which may or may or may not be theologically correct in my enthusiasm.

We will meet Him in the air, and then we will be like Him, for we will see Him as He is

I couldn't find my phone, so you got a blog post instead. 

Finally, it seems, right at the end of a lifetime of little changes of degrees, our final part of conversion into being a Christian will take place. When we see He as He is, then we will finally be as we are.

Take this blog post, for instance,it was only when we conversed with that one comment on the Phatfish video I was watching "this is the message that I want people to know" that I was able to do it. Even now, a few minutes after the connection, I am scrabbling around for understanding and words to get the message across which for a few moments was crystal clear and trans-formative for me. Now left by myself and hold my sight, I'm retreating back into my defensive shell of shyness and trying to deflect and defend that by using long words to show understanding. When I die, that moment of half-seeing will become moments of true company and then I can finally shed and let go of this life.