Tiredness mixed with Cawfee

Last night I stayed up too late. Fact. It wasn't until 3 o clock that I got to look at my bed, and boy was it a lovely site. Genuinely the best thing I saw since I got home. I had been walking home with a drunken Danish man who smelt of the can he was drinking out of. It changes your perspective when you're not entirely sure why you decided to stay and get people to read poetry at you instead of thinking, it's time for bed now...for the both of us let's leave it for another time. Still, we did go quite crazy and the conversation was almost non-existant...hence the poetry reading.

This resulted in my discipined self waking up at the usual 8 o clock, meeting with good ol' Jonny, breakfast, home for CV refinement (thanks Dave, Chris, and Dad) and then some random online job applications. I browsed the internet for what felt like hours. It was hours. My body, at least at that point, wasn't terribly disoriented. By 3 o clock links had started to fail, as had motivations, it was such a nice day outside. So I donned a jumper and headed for town, not quite sure what the agenda would be when I got there. Would I pray on the unsuspecting clipboard clan? Buy a coffee and sit and read? Run around town like a mad man persuading people that a free hug is priceless? Sit and read while drinking coffee? Odds are I would read, sit and drink Coffee. And I did. Quite fruitful.

Reading such facts as, the initial sign for Christianity, the ichthus (fish), was an acronym for 'Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour' not just something about fish, and that the cross is the most offensive sign any Christian could have chosen for the symbol of faith. And yet, it has stuck. The cross. An astounding message of overwhelming, shameful torture. Jesus hanging on a tree for the sake of the elect (whomever they may be). The message offending many ears, only a few softened hearts would dare respond to such a foolish message, and I am one of them. Furthering my thoughts to the point of thinking the resurrection of Jesus happened to prove the finished work two days before. Not to finish a work that was going on on 'Bad Saturday'. "It is finished" cries Jesus as He breathes His last, yields His Spirit to His father, after undergoing the shameful and perfected torture under the Romans hands, taking sin on Himself for the sake of, literally, billions. All to show that God is a God of love. Showing also that He is violently angry at sin, and would rather, out of love, pour His wrath on His own Son for the sake of many, than give many over to their desires.

In the end of the day, when the sun goes down, and a strange shadow makes life uneasy, there is one thing that is certain. Jesus, the rock, the cornerstone, died a terrible terrible death for sin, rose again to prove the finished work, and hung around for a bit to explain it properly to people.

Jesus, the charismatic, showed me how to live.