unsent mail

I was going to keep this blog very blase, very non-personal, very opinion only, if you will. I can't. But I will keep this to a short post.

I have a stack of mail I haven't sent. I can claim it's my current inability to find my stamps and my stubbornness to purchase more when I know I have at least 10 dollars worth of stamps in a box somewhere, but mainly it should be attributed to my current state of apathy - or more correctly put - my feeling of inability to impact anything. There are a lot of situations in my life that are "broken". I feel like I could fix them all if I could just be heard. But it won't work. I could send the mail which would be an attempt to get through, but I know it won't change a thing. It will be perused and then tossed. I could send out millions of cards and letters into the world, but it won't fix the friendships, the relationships, the work situations, the lack of meaning in all that I do. And so, the stack of unsent mail continues to grow.

Is this a stage in life...a search for meaning? Is this the proverbial, over-played, totally lame claim of a quarter-life crisis? Don't get me wrong - I know the meaning of life (a rather bold statement, I know, but I am solidly confident). But sometimes all of the other stuff of earth gets in the way. It claims utter importance, makes me feel lost, unimportant, un-impactful, and wandering around looking for home. The feeling of wanting to go home is one that's haunted me since freshman year of college - not home in the sense of my parent's house, but Home: Where there are no problems, life is easy, there's nothing to worry about, you're loved unconditionally, you belong. Maybe what I really mean is that I want to be twelve again. Or eight. Or five. Is that what Jesus meant when He called us to have faith like a child?