Blogging has
proved to be more difficult than I imagined. Knowing that people are reading
most definitely alters what I choose to write. Even though I’m trying not to be
selective about what I say, there are some vulnerabilities that I’m more
comfortable with showing than others.
I’m actually more
comfortable displaying my over analytic, skeptical and pessimistic thoughts than
my joyful, trusting and unconcerned ones. My unhappy thoughts feel logical and
well-defended. My happy thoughts feel extremely unsound and easily dismissible. (Also, I
frequent the former more than the latter, which means I think and write more
often by the former, which means this blog is going to be mostly a downer,
hopefully hitting infrequent yet spectacular highs).
So I struggle
with being ‘thought-out unhappy’ and then all of a sudden switching to simply
‘happy’. It feels like I’m betraying my own credibility. I can logic myself
into unhappy but I can never logic myself into happy. Happy arrives when analyzing
stops and I just believe – believe that you are funny, believe that you think I’m
funny, believe that life is great (even though I can’t explain it or prove it).
Happy falls upon me unexpectedly. I can’t
find happy, happy finds me.
(I just now
realized that ‘happiness is a choice’ is popular and very pretty opinion.... it
appears that I’m arguing against that.....oops).
Anyways, my public
writing favours unhappy because unhappy is defendable and readily accessible,
while happy is reason-resistant and illusive.
It's normal for
me to often get myself into really despairing and confused mental states
because I think too much about everything and take everything very seriously. I’ve
been told that a good remedy for my unhappiness would be to stop thinking so
much, but most of the time I would rather be unhappy than stop thinking.
Something for another time, that one.
Happy doesn’t
sit well with me the same way trusting God doesn’t sit well with me. It
disposes of my constant thinking. It’s out of my control. I can’t find it, it
find’s me. I despise it when I don’t have it because it seems so flimsy. But
then I realize that even if I don’t want it, I need it. And then I sit around
hoping for it and waiting for it but still despising it because it’s beyond me.
So all of that
said, letting my mind be seen in the throes of happiness is terribly
frightening, yet still more frightening is letting my mind be seen in the
throes of trusting God.
Ideally all this messy preamble served the purpose of bearing the following:
I am very afraid
of trusting God.
I am also very
afraid of giving over my life to Him.
I’m extremely
frightened of letting go of everything else in order to have Him.
I’m not a fan of
having people watch my strength fall to bits knowing that it was the result of
me trying to believe God.
I’m also not a
fan of having absolutely no confidence in myself because I believe that all of
my confidence is supposed to be in Jesus.
I despise being
totally embarrassed by my weakness.
I despise that I
have to surrender my own pursuits of wisdom and success and happiness in order
to try to gain Christ.
I despise that
the way to Christ isn’t in my control.
However, what I
do not at all despise, but rather entirely love, are the times when I have finally
come so pathetically to the end of myself that I end up before God without a
shred of courage. I’m there praying without any of my own strength left and
then all of a sudden I am inexplicably, completely trusting of God. Faith that
is beyond me and is absolutely perfect. All the blind struggle necessary to get
to that point is more than worth it because there
finds me the joy of believing as God rejoices to be believed.
That, my dears,
is God-trusting honesty that makes me recoil when I read it. It reeks of poorly
poetic mumbo jumbo, yet it’s true and I’m simply not capable of logically
depicting the realness of it.
