There is a fine line between finding inspiration and indulging compulsion. Frequently in my notes, written on scraps of paper, in notebooks, and in computer text files, I have written "find inspiration." Inspiration to write, inspiration to play music, inspiration to love. But I compulsively indulge distractions to plug the haunting emptiness of life. These distractions often masquerade as things in which I find inspiration: poems, music, the word of God, people, and nature. I listen to the same song over and over, read the same verse over and over, but I feed on it as escape and do not search its subtleties for the muse.

Is it inspiration I really look for? If I became inspired, would that lead to truth or more self-indulgence? Even now, I sit here at my desk, drinking beer and having completed no work today, after just coming back from an hour-long midnight walk around my neighborhood which I took to get away from the computer addiction. Lord God, have mercy on me, a compulsive man who indulges counterfeit grace. My generation has a fetish for media. We are addicted to online social networking, cell phones, and television. It is our compulsive perpetual search for meaning, or distraction from the reality that we lack meaning. May we see you, Lord Jesus, and know you as the one who gives life. May we not feel guilty for our failures and boast only in your grace.

oh God, show me how
you redeem this world.
let me walk the dark streets of
its decaying cities
and see unfulfiled grace,
may I speak prayers of compassion
in my mercenary heart.