Journal Reflection – Book VII: When the Light Begins to Tremble Through

I have finished reading Book VII. Augustine is standing at a threshold—his mind awakened, but his heart still wrestling. He is shedding the false gods of his past—Manicheism, astrology, the idea that evil is a thing created by God. And yet, he is not yet fully ready to bow. Not yet.

I understand this space. I, too, feel like I’m waiting for something to break open—longing for clarity while standing in the fog. My heart is heavy these days. A prayer I hoped would be answered… wasn’t. Not in the way I wanted. It’s not romantic grief, but the kind that presses on the chest, quietly, with disappointment and confusion. A sacred ache.

Augustine spoke of God and evil, quoting Scripture, weighing ideas with the minds of Plato and Plotinus. But it wasn’t enough to know truth—he wanted to meet Truth.
And I think, maybe, I’m like that too.

"You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in You."

That line rings truer than ever—not as a quote, but as my soul’s quiet cry.
I, too, have chased understanding. I, too, have run from my own pain.
And even now, I find myself saying:

“Turn Your gaze away from me, Lord… for I feel unworthy.”
But also:
“Don’t go too far… I won’t survive without You.”

Augustine begins to grasp something in this chapter—not yet full surrender, but a trembling light breaking through the cracks. He sees Christ not just as a teacher of truth, but as the Truth made flesh, the One who alone can lift the burden between divinity and humanity.

I don’t have answers right now.
But I have tears. And I have hope.
And like Augustine, maybe that is enough for now.

Because apart from You, Lord, I will never flourish.
And maybe… just maybe… someone is still praying for me.