Today was one of those days that remind the sane why they live in the rainy northwest. The skies were satin blue, and it was just warm enough to make pedestrians truly enjoy the light wind. In short, it was as beautiful a day as one is likely to see on this earth.
I didn't enjoy it at all.
I'm not opposed to days of striking beauty, nor am I complaining that I spent the day at work instead of outside in that rarest of Seattle weather patters: sunshine. I simply woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Figuratively speaking, that is. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed in a literal sense would involve me breaking through a wall.
There are countless tricks to staving off a bad day. They involve, but are not limited to: listening to upbeat music, smiling, praying, continuing to smile, praying harder, really cranking up that upbeat music, talking in a forcefully positive manner, and, finally, smiling so hard it feels like your face will crack in two. As you may have already guessed, it didn't work.
I can't speak for anyone but me, but sometimes there's nothing I can do but sit back and ride out a bad day. It's similar to riding a bull, but in this version I'm more concerned with those around me than I am with myself. I find it's very easy to be a pleasant, forgiving, and generally loving Christian when I'm feeling great. It's a different matter altogether when I'm not.
For some reason or another, I almost feel excused from my Christian responsibilities when I'm feeling down. There's an aggrivatingly selfish mood that rises when I'm in the slightest bit of discomfort. Pretty soon all that talk of giving God control, trusting Him, and walking in His way gets harder and harder to live. After all, if God really loved us, if He really was good, life would be easy right?
On my worst days, I actually believe that. I slip into that belief, so common among new Christians, that under the protection of Christ they are bullet proof: no tempations, no sins, no pain, just blissful happiness in the warm embrace of a Father who loves us. But, of course, that's not how the world works. Temptations return, we fall into sin (although less the closer we get to Him), and we feel pain. And that's part of what makes me think this whole Christianity thing is so real.
Real life is a messy, painful, bloody, nasty, and beautiful thing. Christ, in His widsom, did not say, "Blessed are the Christians for they will be happy and rich." What He said was this, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
It's times like today, when I don't feel like being Christ-like at all, that it's the most important for me to be like Him. These are the days that form me, the days spent being hammered, chiseled, and reshaped. I keep asking God to make me a better person, and I keep forgetting that the process rarely feels good.
One day I'll learn. In the mean time, if you see someone like me, someone who's frowning in the face of a beautiful day, don't be too hard on them. They might have tried the smiling trick already.
I didn't enjoy it at all.
I'm not opposed to days of striking beauty, nor am I complaining that I spent the day at work instead of outside in that rarest of Seattle weather patters: sunshine. I simply woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Figuratively speaking, that is. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed in a literal sense would involve me breaking through a wall.
There are countless tricks to staving off a bad day. They involve, but are not limited to: listening to upbeat music, smiling, praying, continuing to smile, praying harder, really cranking up that upbeat music, talking in a forcefully positive manner, and, finally, smiling so hard it feels like your face will crack in two. As you may have already guessed, it didn't work.
I can't speak for anyone but me, but sometimes there's nothing I can do but sit back and ride out a bad day. It's similar to riding a bull, but in this version I'm more concerned with those around me than I am with myself. I find it's very easy to be a pleasant, forgiving, and generally loving Christian when I'm feeling great. It's a different matter altogether when I'm not.
For some reason or another, I almost feel excused from my Christian responsibilities when I'm feeling down. There's an aggrivatingly selfish mood that rises when I'm in the slightest bit of discomfort. Pretty soon all that talk of giving God control, trusting Him, and walking in His way gets harder and harder to live. After all, if God really loved us, if He really was good, life would be easy right?
On my worst days, I actually believe that. I slip into that belief, so common among new Christians, that under the protection of Christ they are bullet proof: no tempations, no sins, no pain, just blissful happiness in the warm embrace of a Father who loves us. But, of course, that's not how the world works. Temptations return, we fall into sin (although less the closer we get to Him), and we feel pain. And that's part of what makes me think this whole Christianity thing is so real.
Real life is a messy, painful, bloody, nasty, and beautiful thing. Christ, in His widsom, did not say, "Blessed are the Christians for they will be happy and rich." What He said was this, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
It's times like today, when I don't feel like being Christ-like at all, that it's the most important for me to be like Him. These are the days that form me, the days spent being hammered, chiseled, and reshaped. I keep asking God to make me a better person, and I keep forgetting that the process rarely feels good.
One day I'll learn. In the mean time, if you see someone like me, someone who's frowning in the face of a beautiful day, don't be too hard on them. They might have tried the smiling trick already.
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