I’ve realized that I need to think less and write more.
I haven’t written anything for a time because, for a good while there, I had seemingly run out of things to say. There’s a lot of noise in this world, and I wasn’t sure that my contributions to it were altogether necessary.
I think, too, my last post got me thinking way too much about injustice and the fact that things just aren’t ever going to be fair but no one ever said they would be so how did I ever come to the conclusion that someday I would wake up and feel good about the state of things?
Phew. Let me just catch my breath after that.
To put it more succinctly: there are a lot of things I don’t understand, and I’ve always accepted that. There are people who wander through life not knowing where their next meal is coming from, or where they’re going to try to sleep for the night. I have just assumed that that’s always going to be the case, that it is an awful but accepted truth.
But now that I’ve been on the front lines, so to speak, it’s become so much more of a reality. These people that I’ve always known about now have names and faces and personalities.
And who am I to decide that some things should be kept for only me to know about? By staying silent about the injustices that I see, I give them power. By not sharing them and being open and honest about the fact that they’ve been slowly taking over and consuming who I am, I allow them to do that very thing.
This is what our culture teaches us, though. I have believed that if I am open about my feelings, if I share that being surrounded by poverty and loneliness and real hurt has changed me and shaken me to the core of who I am, then you will see me as broken and weak and less than.
But I am those things. We are all those things.
I tell you this so you know that it’s perfectly acceptable to not be perfectly acceptable. It’s okay to fall short, to let the stories of others affect you in such a way that you become a little less of who you were. Because when we realize we aren’t as strong as we thought, we open ourselves up to the possibility that we can’t fix everything ourselves.
I’m reading through 2 Corinthians right now, and in chapter 12, verse 9, it shows Jesus telling Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And Paul says that makes him want to boast even more about his weaknesses, so that Christ’s power will rest on him.
That sounds crazy to me, but hey, if it means Jesus is glorified, then I’ll keep talking about those things that mess me up.