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Gray Day
October 06, 2007 - 11:03 a.m. Another month went by without another entry. Yeah...this is not a regular blog anymore by any means. Xanga took over a long time ago. Today is Oct. 6, which means Kevin's dad has been dead for FOUR years. I find that very hard to believe. I remember it all very clearly. And I, of course, am thinking far more about myself than anyone else. It's kind of sickening. God has been gracious today, despite my sinfulness. I am feeling quite sorry for myself. I know I am, and yet I can't shake it. And I'm writing here because I don't want to do something more drastic. There's nothing I can do, yet I keep wanting to try, because I can't accept things the way they are. This rejection goes far deeper than anyone can understand, and I wonder why I'm so messed up that I even expect to be loved in return for my love. Because love, real love, shouldn't expect anything in return. It should just be what it is for the sake of what it is. God doesn't love us because we're lovable or because we give Him anything remarkable in return. He loves us because He is love, and so...He loves. But I'm over here fluctuating between feelings of extreme sadness and anger, wondering why I had to be hurt, and why I still have to be hurt, and why everything I did and said was misconstrued to be something it wasn't...something much less and artificial that what it is. But I'm speaking vaguely for a reason. And I probably shouldn't be speaking at all. I've had a lot of good days lately, and I'm sure I will have a lot of good days in the near future. Today is just a gray day, and I'm feeling very gray. I'll go to work soon. I won't have time to think about things. And I'll be better. But right now, I'd give quite a lot for a kind word from...him. There and Back Again | Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes Are tender over drowning flies, You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. I know not: one indeed I knew In many a subtle question versed, Who touch'd a jarring lyre at first, But ever strove to make it true. Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds. He fought his doubts and gather'd strength, He would not make his judgment blind. He faced the spectres of the mind And laid them; thus he came at length To find a stronger faith his own; And Power was with him in the night, Which makes the darkness and the light, And dwells not in the light alone, But in the darkness and the cloud, As over Sinai's peaks of old, While Israel made their gods of gold, Altho' the trumpet blew so loud. ~From "In Memoriam A.H.H." ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson |