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| I have some things on my mind that I have to get out and I am afraid to say them to the "real world", so that leaves you... (whoever you are)
As I went deep thought diving this morning I came up with this idea. Perhaps PRIDE is like INSANITY...the worst offenders are the ones who don't even know they have a problem.
I am so full of arrogance. Is there a good kind, because if so, that's the kind I thought I had. You know...the kind that only rears its ugly *and I mean UGLY* head when it is righteously indignant about some wrong done to me. I have good cause to be so full of hate and venom and to stand stubbornly in this prison cell constructed by my own pride. Forgive you? Hell no....you hurt me. That's your own fault and I have every right to pridefully reject you and stand with head held high on my lofty righteous self-protective ground. Or do I?
Maybe the line between insanity and pride is thinner than I thought. It seems so insane now. Now that I have nothing fueling my anger and fear. Now that I am not dwelling on the pain someone else knowingly or unknowingly inflicted upon me. Instead I am surrounded by warmth and love and the part of me that behaves this way seems like an unwelcome foreign entity that invades my body whenever such need arises. Because the humble *me* is too weak to defend this sacred ground of self-righteousness.
All I can say, or ask is....Lord, help me see myself clearly, as you see me, not bound by the sins of pride or fear, but free to love, even in the midst of pain because that's who I am in You. I am love, because You are Love. Heal the wounded places in me that I hide from myself, that only you are aware of. Expose them, heal them...make me whole. For your glory.
And there we have it....what is hidden has been revealed. That's what was hiding in the dusty cob-web filled attic of my mind this morning. | | |
| I would not be able to make it through college without triple shot espresso latte's from Starbucks. I have the entire week off next week (from work, not school). I have so much to do that just thinking about it makes my brain cramp up. I think I have adult ADD. I am going to make an appt with my doctor and ask her what she thinks. Something has to explain why I am so weird. Either that, or I was born on a shooting star and ushered to earth on a trail of stardust. That would explain why the last thing I want to do is spend Thanksgiving with the people who raised me. They are like aliens.... Or am I the alien? I prefer to be a fairy that dropped from the heavens....it doesn't sounds so bad when you're a girl | | |
| Life is nothing but hindsight. How can I say I am living in the present when all I can do is look back and wonder what might have been? How can I plan for the future when all I know is the past? I am stuck in a time warp. This tunnel vision that can only look back. And I see it now, but its too late. Where is the emotional orgasm I get from looking back and seeing it all worked out? Maybe life isn't hindsight. Maybe it's a waiting room. A holding place, until the doctor calls you in and tells you the good news...."It's terminal, you are going to die." A release...a chance... to hear God say...."It was all as it was meant to be!" | | |
| I'm headed off to California in a couple days. I'm traveling there for a business conference. I am anxious. I don't feel grown up enough to be doing this. I have to drive myself to the airport, park in long term parking, find my gate, make my connection, get my rental car, drive two hours north and check into the hotel. These are all things grown up people do. Important people with important jobs. Not little old me. I went out in February of this year too. I went to Pacific Beach and Marina Del Rey. I met a nice man on the pier who had a dog that looked like a bat. I saw dolphins and a killer whale, right off the shoreline. But it was sad. I sat in a bar all by myself , wearing my Tom Brady jerzee, and watched the Patriots lose the Superbowl. I was alone. It's like all these experiences and events had no value, because I was alone. Is that normal? Why do I need to be connected to someone in order to attribute value to my experience? How do I connect with myself? Imagine how much fun we could have! | | |
| "I don't believe in ghosts but I've been running from them all my life." Edgar Allen Poe Have you ever read something and it's like the words come alive, jump right off the page, and punch you in the chest. That's what happened to me when I read this quote. What exactly is it that haunts me? Why does reading those words feel like swallowing acid? It burns inside. | | |
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