Ah... the wanderings of affection. A house built upon sand can only sink. The tide comes in, I swim, I crawl to the second floor, I get comfortable and get used to it. The tide goes back out, I naively wander back downstairs, hoping that this time will be different.
Come Holy Spirit! Here I sit in the upper room, vaguely remembering the teacher's assurances, fearfully doubting his success.