While meditating with God today He said something very striking. We spoke about the concept of choice.
I reasoned that I feel like in certain things I don’t have an actual choice because choosing them means choosing a lack of peace. In which case, obviously I will not choose the option that doesn’t give me peace. Who would? He argued back that I technically have. I have chosen the unpeaceful route over and over again and I may choose it again tomorrow.
Hmmmm….that is true. But I rebutted with thats because choosing God doesn’t give me peace either. And He responded with, “no, you have peace, you just also have pain.”
I expect that Gods route means Him taking away all that is unpleasant. Process is process. There is no shortcut around the fire. God never said there wouldn’t be pain.
Can you stand in pain, having peace that He who said He loves you, still loves you even though it still hurts?
I wish I ran track as hard as I run from myself. At first I never really know I’m running from me until ironically I began to feel those clear oxygen deficient symptoms. I’m laughing because I never really realized that i was experiencing similar mental “out of breathness” till now. I start feeling like im suffocating, so I run harder. And almost as if have deprived my brain for oxygen too long, I began to experience a mental lightheadness characterized by pure delirium. My thoughts start racing a mile a minute, probably hoping that the harder it pumps them out the greater the chance coherence and sanity will return. Then just like that everything fades to black and numbness slips over me comfortingly.
I ran so hard but in the end I wasn’t fast enough. I collapse on my bed and she catches me and accosts me. “Why are you running from me?!” I try with all my might to roll over but my body just lays there for my brain is too depleted, too deprived of oxygen to direct my body to flee, even if just to face the west wall. “I hate you, I hate you, LOOK AT MEE!!” I stare. I think about those good ole sleeping pills and the prospect of just slipping away for a few. She cries. I stare. She’s tired. I stare. She throws her hands up and turns from me, broken.
I sit up. I can feel myself breathe again. I see her, dressed in rags, hallow eyes, emaciated, cold. I begin to feel for her. Tears fall.
I now have a choice. Care for her, bathe her, clothe her, feed her. Stroke her face tenderly, lovingly. Love her. Or Run.
I choose the worst. I stand over her and cry. She looks up at me and cries too. She knows I care, but she cries because she knows that regardless I am going to abandon her. I turn. She cries out barely above a whisper, “wait.” And I run.