CANNOT. BELIEVE. I’M. ALREADY. 22.
2012, for the most part, has been a half ho-hum, half-sad year so far, and I know we all still have three more months ahead of us for me to throw this judgment too early in the game, but whatever. Not a great way to begin a birthday blog post, I know, but you get the drift. I looked forward to this too, you know. Yet somehow, a few days before the tenth, I found myself in an extraordinary state of pensive self-reflection, and I was so sad-bordering-on-mad depressed about everything in my life so far. I was so discouraged about this gnawing sense of self-pity, this apparent lack of accomplishment, this habit of failing everyone’s expectations notwithstanding my own. I was all of a sudden too tired of everything, so dissatisfied and sensitive about every little darn thing. It’s like an unwanted invitation back to puberty; I was so moody and sullen and introspective—and I knew exactly why.
Because I know I could do so much better than this, could have had more than this. And it kills me, you know. It hurts so bad that I almost despised my upcoming 22nd birthday. And then it happened. Nothing like the love of God and the love of people around you to bring you to your knees again, back to gratefulness and the overwhelming blanket of grace, of mercy, of a lot of things that still makes our miserable lives bearable, and in so many ways worth it. Read the rest of this entry