Listing my problems to you, nonexistent reader, would hardly be enjoyable to read.
But there is a list. Oh, what a list.
I don't want this to be another rant post. I have too many of those. But that's all I want to do right now. Rant. Cuz guess what?!
Life is rough.
Really, it is.
Mine isn't even that rough, and I still find time to complain about it.
Why is it that I can write a blog post in ten minutes, while I stare at my computer screen for hours without writing a single sentence of my paper, which is due on Monday? Along with my unfinished Spanish test, that I have yet to even study for?
These "problems" are nothing, nothing, compared to the rest of my predicaments. But you don't want to hear them. Eh, don't worry about it. I wouldn't want to hear someone complain about their issues either. It's terribly banal.
But I don't know how much more of this I can take. I really don't know. This is the toughest stuff I've ever had to go through. Right now.
Someone once told me that I was both the happiest and saddest person they had ever met. I was surprised by the accuracy of their statement. Yes... I'm happy. I'm so happy sometimes that people tend to scoot away from me when my happiness overflows. But I'm also sad. So, so very sad. It's too hard for me sometimes. All the suffering. It's too hard.
Even when I'm not the one suffering.
Lord. Please. Please help me. I need You. I need You more than ever. I. Need. You.
2 comments:
Why is it that I can write a blog post in ten minutes, while I stare at my computer screen for hours without writing a single sentence of my paper, which is due on Monday? Along with my unfinished Spanish test, that I have yet to even study for?
Sounds like me. I struggle with perfectionism, which is a word I'm really starting to hate since it means that instead of risking doing something wrong, I'd rather not try it at all. It may seem like humility, but it can be pride in disguise.
I read something great by Madeleine L'Engle the other day: she said that when she was a child, her parents didn't love her because of how good she was; they loved her because she was Madeleine, their daughter. It's really the same way with God, I think; he doesn't love us because of what we do. We do it because we love him...
Emotions--our own emotions--can be so confusing. Especially if we base our identity in them and suddenly they change. If we're known as the perpetually happy person, what happens when we get sad? We get frustrated because we're not supposed to get sad. So guilt mounts on the sadness. But your identity isn't in your emotions, it's in Christ. And that is cause for rejoicing! :)
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