Monday, June 18, 2012

Mckinley was wrong, there is nothing beautiful about this mess.

I'm beginning to think that reading is becoming dangerous for me(perhaps, some movies are too)  I've read a few of the popular book series, Harry Potter, Twilight, and now the Hunger Games.   They are all good series, but in each one I find myself so drawn in to the story, so connected to the characters, that when I put the books down (that is, if I didn't read through them in one sitting) I feel like I have to recover and snap myself back to reality.

I don't know if its the fact that its a series so the story is more complex and you get to know the characters on a deeper level, I don't know if its because the characters in each series are facing an epic struggle between what is good and evil...  I remind myself that these books were made into movies for a reason... I think everyone can relate to a struggle between good and evil, whether people want to break the books down that far or not, that's what is is.

And our lives are not nearly as fantastically adventurous... or tragic, but we see something incredible rise out of each character, a purity of heart, strength of character, an iron will, a selfless love, courage, leadership, comradry, beauty... and we want our own strengths to rise up in us and call us all to something greater, to some fantastic adventure that will change the world.  We wonder, where is that in me? Where is my courage, strength, love? Could I see myself stepping up and taking anothers place when it means I would almost certainly be facing my own death?

We want our strengths to be called out but we are too afraid of what it will take for that to happen. How many of the characters in these books faced some sort of personal tradgedy, or grew up in the face of some sort of oppression.  

But we don't want the sacrifice of the pain that it takes to develop or call out these strengths.

I can tell you that when my mom first went to the hospital a few weeks ago,  and we didn't know if they would be able to stop the infection... the thought of my mother dying broke me. Just the mere THOUGHT of it broke me, and to think about it now breaks my heart and brings a flood of tears.

And then, almost two weeks later when they moved to East Chicago, I was so overwhelmed with everything in my life, I sat in my car in the hospital parking area and sobbed bitterly, then when one more thing was thrown in my face, I snapped, and I'm not proud of who I was in that moment.   And then I reached a place of brokenness I didn't know I was capable of.

And I think to myself, wow, where is my strength of character? Where is my courage? Where is my purity of heart? Why was what was called out of me so ugly? 

And I hurt because I realized there is nothing beautiful or worthy in me. And yetI know in my heart that nothing good is called out of me on my own accord, so this can mean one thing to me... I am not connected to the heart of God.   I can go to church, I can read my Bible a few times a week, I can offer up weak prayers on occasion, I can remind myself that I have accepted Christ and that I have been baptized into his name,  but somewhere, sometime, God and I have disconnected, and I desperately need to find that connection again.  What physical poverty can compare to spiritual poverty?    Here I am trying to bring my family and friends to Christ when I need to find him again myself.

Does this really have anything to do with a few books making me feel depressed? I don't know.  I didn't even know this is where this blogpost would end up when I started writing... so perhaps.

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Saturday, June 9, 2012

I have never felt so broken.

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