Overcast sky. Rain. Incessant rain. The sound of raindrops falling on the cement panels. The droplets of rain clinging to the glass window like dew on the leaves of grass. I see hope emanating from the promise of tomorrow. A gift from God.
Amuse me. Ask.
The truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing. I should be running. I should run as fast as I could… run until I reach the ends of the earth or until I reach the end of this. But like the ocean, everytime I muster the strength to drift away, gravity pulls me back into the shore, kissing the cold and uncaring sand beneath me. The vast space waiting before me, eager to swallow all that I have; all of me. I will not be remembered. Not even my name. Time has abandoned me. Tell me, what are you doing? Who is going to hold my hand?Whatever happened to those days? I’m getting tired of being strong.
Does it really matter that our circumstances are difficult? Why shouldn’t they be! If we give way to self-pity and indulge in the luxury of misery, we remove God’s riches from our lives and hinder others from entering into His provision. No sin is worse than the sin of self-pity, because it removes God from the throne of our lives, replacing Him with our own self interests. It causes us to open our mouths only to complain, and we simply become spiritual sponges - always absorbing, never giving, and never being satisfied. And there is nothing lovely or generous about our lives.