Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
It’s so easy to lose faith in things. If there’s one thing I can say that I’ve learned countless times over the past few years, it’s that things fall apart. Things fall apart when you least expect it and when you’re the most vulnerable. Somehow, I always manage to be surprised when life displays its alarming tendency to prey on any frailty I leave exposed. Then, of course, my natural instinct is to mutely withdraw from everything around me—to detach myself and heal my wounds in private…on my own.
But that’s not the answer, is it? It’s hard for me to see sometimes—especially when my path starts to get rocky—but I’ve realized that I can always, always take joy in God’s love for me and in all of the blessings He has given me.
Sure, sometimes, life sucks beyond the telling of it. That’s the nature of our world: things fall apart. Everything falls apart—except God’s love for us. That’s one thing—in a world of uncertainties and hardships—that will always remain constant.
I’m not trying to sound preachy, so I’m sorry if it’s coming off that way. I’ve just realized how often I fall into the trap of saying, “Well, God, I’m having all of these problems right now, and I just need to deal with everything before I can devote more time to You.” Talk about a skewed perspective.
Recently, I remember stumbling upon this quote: “You don’t drown by falling in the river; you drown by staying there.” Eh, marginally clever at least, don’t you think? So often, I let my problems consume me, and I allow myself to dwell on negative things. I chastise myself for my shortcomings instead of simply recovering—recovering by getting out of “the river.” But come on. Have you ever tried swimming your way out of raging river…full of crocodiles…and…sharks? Okay, well…maybe most rivers don’t have those things…and I suppose I’ve never actually tried that myself…but I assume that it’s probably not up very high on the list of “Most Fun Things to Do.” And it’s probably not very easy, either.
Lately, I’ve realized that the only way to get out—to really be free—is to grab the life preserver (and…the crocodile/shark repellent, I suppose) that God is constantly throwing to me. No matter how hard I try, I’m not going to be able to save myself; without God, I’m going to drown.
Fortunately, though, even when I thrash around in vain and try to rely on myself, God will always be there. In the end, as long as I trust in Him, I’ll be saved.
So, maybe the whole “life preserver” analogy was cheesy or cliché…but that’s alright with me. It keeps me afloat (ha), and that’s really what I need in life.
And, so, yes, I’ve realized that life certainly isn’t the tale of perfection that I often imagine—but, with that said, I know I have so many things for which to be grateful—friends and family, especially. God has given me so many blessings, and, as long as I don’t lose sight of that, things will always be okay. My faith in Him allows me to always trust, always hope, always persevere.
God’s love gives me the strength I need to endure.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Slippery When Wet
Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to just feel nothing—not physically (but I think you gathered that already), but emotionally. It’s always seen as such a negative trait: cold, heartless, unfeeling. I’m not saying that any of those things are positive by any means, but, sometimes, I think I just need to be more rational.
In one of my classes, we recently took a “StrengthFinder (2.0!)” test, and one of my strongest traits was empathy. I wasn’t surprised by this, really, but I was a little confused about how they defined the term. They seemed to say that being empathic is merely understanding others’ emotions, but not necessarily feeling them. Empathy implies a certain amount of detachment that I’m not sure I’ve mastered. Apparently, to actually feel the emotions is sympathy. So, perhaps I’m more sympathic than empathic (But, then again, “sympathic” isn’t even a real word…and “sympathetic” just doesn’t seem to create the parallelism I had so fervently desired here. Perhaps that means it’s time to move on…).
When I’m completely honest with myself, I know I never would want to lose my sense of em(sym?)pathy. It’s definitely a large part of who I am, and I can’t imagine life without it. All other things aside, I know my writing would suffer tremendously if I were constantly detached from the world around me. I write best when I’m feeling—good or bad (usually bad, actually). Without these feelings, I imagine my writing would look a little something like this:
Mary was sad, and her tears fell to the ground at a velocity of 2 m/s (Yes, Mary has alarmingly fast tears).
So, at least I can take comfort in that, right? Besides, I highly doubt the above sentence would fit very well in any sort of literature…except maybe a physics book. And even that’s a stretch.
I guess my main problem is that I’m just hurt too easily and too deeply—even by trivial things. I overanalyze, and I punish myself for things that I really can’t control. And, then, the negative feelings just fester until I manage to push them aside (to be kept for later use, no doubt).
One good thing I’ve discovered is that I’ve learned to heal myself quickly. No matter how horrible I feel, I can usually pick myself back up again before too long. Even now, I can feel myself bouncing back…like one of those obnoxious little “whack-a-mole” creatures after you’ve clubbed it over the head 50 times, and it simply refuses to die. Okay…maybe not quite like that.
So, what have we learned today? Hmmm…nothing substantial, it seems. I guess our lesson for today—as evidenced by my little writing sample in the third paragraph—is merely that life is more complicated than physics (Note: This may not be true for “Physics 3”…but I will never know for sure because I will never take such a nightmarish class).
And…that’s a wrap.
In one of my classes, we recently took a “StrengthFinder (2.0!)” test, and one of my strongest traits was empathy. I wasn’t surprised by this, really, but I was a little confused about how they defined the term. They seemed to say that being empathic is merely understanding others’ emotions, but not necessarily feeling them. Empathy implies a certain amount of detachment that I’m not sure I’ve mastered. Apparently, to actually feel the emotions is sympathy. So, perhaps I’m more sympathic than empathic (But, then again, “sympathic” isn’t even a real word…and “sympathetic” just doesn’t seem to create the parallelism I had so fervently desired here. Perhaps that means it’s time to move on…).
When I’m completely honest with myself, I know I never would want to lose my sense of em(sym?)pathy. It’s definitely a large part of who I am, and I can’t imagine life without it. All other things aside, I know my writing would suffer tremendously if I were constantly detached from the world around me. I write best when I’m feeling—good or bad (usually bad, actually). Without these feelings, I imagine my writing would look a little something like this:
Mary was sad, and her tears fell to the ground at a velocity of 2 m/s (Yes, Mary has alarmingly fast tears).
So, at least I can take comfort in that, right? Besides, I highly doubt the above sentence would fit very well in any sort of literature…except maybe a physics book. And even that’s a stretch.
I guess my main problem is that I’m just hurt too easily and too deeply—even by trivial things. I overanalyze, and I punish myself for things that I really can’t control. And, then, the negative feelings just fester until I manage to push them aside (to be kept for later use, no doubt).
One good thing I’ve discovered is that I’ve learned to heal myself quickly. No matter how horrible I feel, I can usually pick myself back up again before too long. Even now, I can feel myself bouncing back…like one of those obnoxious little “whack-a-mole” creatures after you’ve clubbed it over the head 50 times, and it simply refuses to die. Okay…maybe not quite like that.
So, what have we learned today? Hmmm…nothing substantial, it seems. I guess our lesson for today—as evidenced by my little writing sample in the third paragraph—is merely that life is more complicated than physics (Note: This may not be true for “Physics 3”…but I will never know for sure because I will never take such a nightmarish class).
And…that’s a wrap.
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