I’m addicted to cool.
I mean, majorly, hopelessly, strung out. I’ve been driving a rental car for the past two weeks, and now I’m back in my cool, fast Passat, with 18″ wheels, and performance tires, that handles awesomely. Every time I get in it, I feel cool. Especially when I step on the accelerator and the VR6 roars, or I take a corner hard, or shift gears at lightening speed with the dual-clutch six-speed auto-manual tranny. I love cool, love looking cool, love being cool, not so much in an obvious, shouting way, but in a more-subtle way. Like I could care less. Like I’m just naturally healthy, not a pathetically insecure, immature proving addict. Hiding how much I really care about my image. Sophisticated. Cool.
I thought seriously yesterday about selling my dream car and buying a cheaper, slower, uncool car. Whyzat? Because driving a cool, fast car just strokes, exacerbates, my cool-addiction. Each time I get in it, it’s like taking a fresh hit of my drug of choice. But. I don’t like being addicted. Addiction doesn’t make me happy, just makes me want more. Stoppit. I wannabe different. Normal. But. Maybe Jesus’ plan for now, is for me to want to be normal, but not be normal, so I’m forced to learn to be satisfied with Him, and His imputed normal. Life is harrrd for the deeply dysfunctional who wannabe normal, so we can feel good about ourselves, and don’t need Jesus and His imputed normal.
–ShepherdDave, seeing his addiction/idolatry more clearly than ever, but only when he’s been freshly convicted of being unsatisfied with Jesus and His imputed worthiness, so he’s momentarily DumbSheepDave, who could care less about his reputation, performance, coolness, worthiness, somebodiness, because he’s totally content with his ShepherdJesus and His imputed somebodiness
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