My ability to turn whatever I'm dished out into a miserable experience surfaces at many days' ends. I choose that misery. No matter how fine a day was.
I know I have an easy, cushioned life.
And I know that my heart chooses this joylessness. It's this human nature thing. Maybe you've heard of it.
We've been reading The Republic at school, rolling the ideas of justice and motives around in our minds time and time again. And it always boils back down to this flesh issue. Our ability to distort and stain and want more than we have. Endlessly. This ability to be unhappy in every season of our lives. Whether it's cloudy or sunny. To never be satisfied.
To drink from the shallow places and never dive in with all of us.
Skimming the surface. Getting by. But feeding this empty by placing ourselves in place of the Son. Making ourselves the one that our world revolves 'round.
A day is marked by our ability to keep thinking about ourselves.
And whether a day is good or bad, whether life is like sitting on a cloud or drowning in the sea-
we aren't happy.
I come home, at a day's end, and I am still thirsty internally.
It's this choosing of myself that fails me. Every time.
It is me drinking from the
shallow place
that will never hold enough for me when the deepest, coolest waters are just around the bend. I've just got take the few steps over there. It's available; I've just got to lean down and drink immersed. Then my soul will be satisfied. If I choose to have faith.
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