(A guided meditation from Book XII of Augustine's Confessions)
“The further away from You things are, the more unlike You, they become.”
Reading Augustine’s final reflections on creation, I paused here. These words struck something deep in me. Not just about the world, but about me—my soul, my story.
As I sat with them, I found myself thinking:
The more I move away from God, the less human I become.
Not in a mythical sense, but in the very fabric of my being.
When I am far from Him, I’m not just lost—I’m unraveling. I become more like formless matter, pulled apart by scattered loves and half-baked desires. My mind races, my heart clings to what fades, and my soul bends in on itself. That’s what sin is—it’s not just wrongdoing. It’s de-creation. It's becoming less.
And yet—He holds me together.
“I seek not to understand so that I may believe, but I believe so that I may understand.”
Augustine’s confession feels like my own prayer. I don’t understand all things—I hardly even understand myself most days. But I know this:
I would be nothing without Him.
Without His grace, His patience, and His unrelenting mercy, I would fade into the shadows of what I was meant to be.
Even in my restlessness, even in my failures—He forms me. Again and again.
The world didn’t begin with shape or order—it was formless and void.
And so was I, until He began to speak light into me.
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