The Search Continues...

Also while downtown, we were looking for places to live. There are some possibilities, but nothing close to a sure-thing yet...
...
Okay, actually, I admit it, I'm writing this post for no other reason than to allow me to come to my blog page without seeing ME! for two posts in a row, plus a profile picture. (Even if my hat is amazingly hip in two of them.)
So, yeah. More filling up space to move things down a bit on the page.
Should I include another poem? That has seemed to work well in the past. Let's see...
Ah, how about some Bonhoeffer? This prison poem has actually been quite meaningful to me as I've been cataloging my "accomplishments" and making shiny resumes and figuring out life and where to live and where to work and what I'm doing now that I've graduated, sometimes feeling like I get by on little more than sheer bravado:

Who am I? They often tell me I would step from my cell's confinement calmly, cheerfully, firmly, like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me I would talk to my warden freely and friendly and clearly, as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me I would bear the days of misfortune equably, smilingly, proudly, like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of, or am I only what I know of myself, restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds, thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation, tossing in expectation of great events, powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, faint and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the other? Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once?
A hypocrite before others, and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling? Or is something within me still like a beaten army, fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

Comfort in smallness, hey? Thanks be to God that in Him we live and move and have our being. There is such rest in that.