“It’s like forgetting the words to your favorite song. You can’t believe it; you were always singing along. It was so easy and the words so sweet. You can’t remember; you try to feel the beat.” I’m listening to the new Regina Spektor album, “Far,” and I’m loving this tune.
I repeatedly slip down that slippery slope of feeling sorry for myself. Not enough time to write; short on energy to clean the house; no free evening to tackle the yard work; still unpublished; still single. So go the thoughts, twisting my spirit into a taut braid of impatience and disappointment. This ditch of negativity isn’t where I’d like to be but sometimes the temptation to dwell there is stronger than my will to stay above ground. Thing is, my mind has been racked in the last two days with reminders of how protected I am from any real reason to pity myself. I think of my friend’s mother suffering through another round of debilitating cancer treatments. Or my aunt who just found out she has to have a hip replaced. Or my sister who has lived in perpetual and intense pain for the last 2 years. I think of them and realize how utterly selfish it is to spend so many moments thinking about myself and the way I wish my life would go, rather than praying for them and countless others.
The past several years have chipped away at my pride, leaving it scarred and defensive. It’s hard to pray when you’re tired of the answers God keeps giving. I guess that’s in keeping with the nature of humility though, isn’t it – to keep going back to the only One who can satisfy no matter how badly you wish you could tailor that satisfaction; to know, without doubt, that you must go back to Him again today or today will fall apart.