Hangin' in like hair in a biscuit

That one.  There, in the corner.  Do you see it?  I am that pig.  The last 6 months or so have been CUH-RAZY . . . mostly CUH-RAZY GOOD.  However, I have found myself feeling like this particular pig - in need of fresh air and with just enough energy to flop in the corner and poke my snout towards the squeeky smell of hope.  Because I am a believer, I ALWAYS have hope, but sometimes I just want to close my eyes and inhale it nice and slow like . . . in through the mouth, out through the snozzle.  Nice. And. Slow. Repeat.

Butniceandslowisapipedream.  Lifejustkeepsmovingatatoorapidrate.  I have been  fighting against a pace I don't want to keep, but eagerly running to meet the next thing because frankly I like this thing and the next on the horizon.  Gifts being used - check.  Running shoes and paint swatches in hand - check.  Flourishing - check.  Dying - check.  Jesus, I need you.  I am hangin' in like a hair in a biscuit, and without you I am a stuck bystander about to be swallowed up and spit out.  It is hard to slow up for Jesus, but SO VITAL.  I WANT . . . rephrase . . . I NEED to learn to be like this guy.

Sandwiched by hustle and bustle but undistracted by it.  Focused on one thing.  Oblivious to the melody of horns honking, his feet fanned by the hot breeze of passing traffic.  Ready to work (he's a windshield washer - see his squeegee and his worn sponge?) but utterly occupied by what's on his paper.  I yearn to be captivated by Jesus like this.  I really really REALLY do.  I can't believe how much I stink but because of him I smell like roses.  His fragrance covers my stench.  Every day.  All. THE. Time.  I pray that my feet will never run so fast that I miss, forget, lose sight of the fact that the God of the universe chose for His own son, perfect, flawless, blameless, to endure what I, imperfect, sinful and gross, deserved (DEATH) and blessed me with LIFE in Him and with Him.