Sir Render

Surrender = Sir Render

The veil was rent. I will trust Him, and He will rend me. It will be for the highest, noblest, most fantastic cause. The eyes of my heart can’t see it, but something in my head knows it and agrees fully with the veracity of it.

Two friends I have now who are fully surrendered. They are delightful company—eager, joyful, and childlike to almost an annoying degree. The content of their speech now is kind of “out there,” not a place I frequent regularly because it’s a high kind of place, this absolute yieldedness.

Seems like it’s a place of a color just beyond the limited ability of my rods and cones. It seems like a wonderful place, like a Who Wouldn’t Wanna Go There place. I feel like a child stretching on her tippy-tippy toes to see what’s in the glass jar she just discovered is on the counter because her two sisters just got something out of it, but dangit, she’s just too short, and they have neither the permission nor the ability to give her any. I pace and stop, study and think, wondering how or even IF I’m going to get into that jar.

Can’t help thinking that rending must be prerequisite to surrender, and that this could get ugly...