Stretched

I haven't written (for fun) in quite a while. Given the recent happenings, I don't really blame myself. I mean, honestly, I shouldn't even by writing right now. I should be studying or doing some sort of homework, but I'm hitting senioritis pretty hard. My passions do not lie in the mundane work handed down to me by my professors. Those assignments sit between the cover of books leering at me as if, in their vast number, they know that I can't possibly complete them all. It can become aggrivating real quick because you suddenly realize that there's not really much at all in your life that you feel passionate about. That's not to say that there's nothing positive in my life, but my existance is so task oriented right now that such feelings tend to permiate off of my focuses and affect the positive things too. I hate that. I have become my own enemy. It's completely possible to be joyful in my situation were it not for my stubborn desire for control. I want so badly to be considered responsible, but I carry too much weight for my means. And then, with every negative stroke that comes my way, I take it head on, keeping tabs and holding it up as to say "life is not fair." It's like that time when I tried to bunk that bed in the dorms at the beginning of last year with no one else's help. I felt that if I could just pull that off It would somehow make me better. When the other guys walked in and saw me trying as hard as I could to win, I suddenly realized how stupid I looked.

Of course, I've never been okay with failure. I don't know how I developed that characteristic, but I know I have to let it go. Ha, that's like trying to learn how to let go of your arm from your shoulder. And from that so many people tell me that I should just give it to God as if such an action were easy and should have already been done. But giving up is still an action, and one that I'm not very good at. I don't know what that image looks like or entails. Sometimes giving something up to God is an awful lot like cutting off a piece of your body. I mean I would rather have it taken from me in some sort of unexpected waterskiing accident than having someone hand me a knife and say "well... go to it." And with every saw-like motion and slicing sound you wince, and the blood keeps on flowing. Once it's done you still hurt and it gets wrapped up. Then as time progresses you sometimes feel like it's still there, but it isn't. And after that comes the part where you have to spend days, weeks, and years trying to learn how to live without it.

So I guess sometimes I guess if you were to acquire something and hold it to your chest, then someone could come up to you and simply say "shhh... just lower your hands, uncurl your fingers, and let gravity do the rest." But when you are born with something it's a lot harder to hear "shhh... just take that saw and cut it off and everything will be fine." It's hard because you know that your entire life will be readjusted and the pain, though at one point will be subsided, will none the less last a good bit of time. Have I gotten you too lost in this metaphore, or are you still hanging with me?

If we were pure, sinless, and unfallen, I immagine life's decisions and values wouldn't be very difficult, but sin nature (even forgiven sin nature) tends to complicate even the simplest of matters.

I really need to go to bed.

Peace and love.