My pity party is finally in conclusion. After weeks of tears, hair pulling, and sequestering myself in my room, I am now salvaging my pride and resurfacing as a human being. Maybe I should leave it at this. I should just exercise my facial muscles and smile again. But I need to write or I'll forever hold it and drag it with me to my last breath.
Ah, drama, how you fill my life with angst and profound melancholic monologues. I went to church yesterday with my Dad. I didn't want to since I had cramps and all that lovely time of the month joys of being a woman. But I knew he would be disappointed and I would feel guilty, so there we were. The guest preacher was funny, self-deprecating, and honestly confessed to a family case of inherited depression and self-medication. My kind of person. His message was aptly entitled "I Am Not A Victim." Huh. And there I was enraptured as he talked of his granddaughter's weepy soccer game, Jesus' miserable time on earth, his mom's seemingly pointless death, a parents' brutally murdered son, the elevator of choice: up for heaven and down for hell, and of why God doesn't answer our most esoteric question: Why?
"Because He's God, and He's right, and you don't get to ask that question." He was kidding, of course, but yeah, it feels that way sometimes. When my uncle passed away, I asked God why; Why did He allow my uncle to die when He could just have healed him? So I was angry and hurt, and it hurt more that I was angry at God when I've loved Him since I've known Him. Add to the fact that I was stressed out over my classes, and being bombarded by blasphemous statements by my World Religions professor, having no time to clean the house, piling papers needed to be started, and having someone tailgate me to the point of hitting my car's rear end. Ah, hell. Wonderful.
I used to think that asking God why would result in being struck by lightning and damnation to a voidless, dark, pit. But I learned recently that if you're honest with God, He'll be equally honest with you. It didn't matter what God's answer was, in hindsight, I just wanted the assurance that He would answer. The preacher said that asking God why should not were we should exert our effort, but in searching for God's plan for us. Pain happens, and you could either choose being a victim, or believing that God has a plan. Jesus suffered on earth too, but have you ever felt that he was a victim in all that you've read of him? I'm sure he didn't enjoy some or most of the experiences he's had on earth, similarly, we don't either.
Sometimes life is hell. But hell, as I learned yesterday, is just the absence of God. When we choose to be victims, we take God out of the equation and instead believe that life is just random and out of control. I don't want to be a victim, I want God there with me. As my Patho prof says, "there are no victims, only volunteers." I certainly don't want to volunteer for hell. So I'll start by pressing the Up button; it's tempting to stay wallowing in hell but no thanks.
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