The wait...

I think I used to be interesting, once upon a time. Perhaps being old has something to do with it. Or school. Or waiting.
I'm not sure what it is, like the baited breath, waiting for... what? Exactly what drives me now? I worry sometimes, with all going well (well, at least with me, not with the world), with little to rile up feelings of indignation or antagonism (except for, perhaps, the Mayor, but he's still pretty small-fries in comparison with defending the Bride), that perhaps that I'm not interesting anymore.
Particularly during this Holy Week, on pondering on the great suffering, the great love, the great sacrifice that occurred, leaves one considering how hugely dramatic events that unfolded this week drove incredible transformation in the universe.
And so, I sit, pondering how to make a difference, yet again. I wonder if now my dreams and ambitions are too small, too cloistered for what God could truly do with open hands and a willing heart. And then I wonder if it's inevitable; that eventually our dreams must become too small, and that God can indeed use our small loaves and fishes, but we must be willing to want them to be used to feed the five thousand. And perhaps I no longer want to feed the five thousand anymore.
Perhaps, in losing (or conceding) the battle, it has made me lose the war. I know not. I think I've journeyed from wandering away from the battle, and wandered into the desert to seek my burning bush. And I never found it. I found great priceless treasure and great immeasurable joy in the meanwhile, but I did not find that burning bush, that holy ground that shakes and makes me fall prostrate to the ground in awe and fear, that Voice that tells me to go and set His people free, to go and tell His people His message, to go and call His people back to Himself. Is that terrible? I don't know if joy is an adequate substitute, in and of itself.
I wonder also if it is a false choice, that I am indeed allowed to have both joy and fire at the same time. But, in some ways, I cannot see how that can be so: the cool comfort that joy provides inevitably chills the blazing heat of the fire in my bones.
And so, I wait. Wait for Him to show Himself, whether in the earthquake, or the storm, or in the quietness of night. And I hope that I am able to hear.