construction zone?

Of late, trudging through day to day activities, with French language piling up near my brain, though not yet truly there, with people's long opinions staining my roughly hewn building of thoughts and with plans never fully executed, I've been realizing that life will never be settled. I will always be able to find some way to move, hopefully in growth, often merely in movement. I must constantly shift in some way (along with most human beings). It seems sometimes as though walls are constantly crumbling around me and I pray that something is being built in all this destruction, and though I believe that something is being established (if only the knowledge of my complete dependence on grace), it is not always evident.

I often wonder as I search through the rubble of my collapsed concepts, always finding shards of other's conclusions, mismatched and generously strewn about the area, what to believe in all this chaos.