Where Do You Run T0

Sunday, June 30, 2019

Summer Inventory

"It's the last day of June. I thought we had one more day to go."

"It is. June only has 30 days. The year is half over. Any regrets?"

"It's not New Year's, so no, not yet."

"Surely, something is bothering you. You don't look people in the eye anymore."

"Well... I could be sweeter to my mom; she's just trying to make up for 22 years of existence in the few minutes when she scrapes me out of sleep to kiss me good-morning. And she just lost someone...

"I could stop thinking about myself so much; it's depressing to ruminate on thoughts of being damaged beyond repair, even if it does make late sleep sweeter, and justifies cussing out everyone on the road to work. Maybe stop making executive decisions for myself when other people may be affected by what I choose."

"Like don't forget to refill the hands that have filled yours for so long? And maybe feed them once in a while, too?"

"Yes. I can't just be a receiver anymore, my childhood has expired. I'm not a child and I'm not exempt from giving back in my relationships. I need to consider others more than I consider myself. It's in the Bible, I just forget."

"Right. You can't be ungrateful; you can't let what's been spoken over you become reality. Do you still believe in that power?"

"As in 'don't speak that over me?' I don't know... Sometimes I think it sounds silly. If you're sick, you're sick. I can't speak you into being healthy or unhealthy. But if I'm not ungrateful, then saying I am is a lie I don't want said over me or about me."

"You know you can explore if you want to... go out into the tall grass, see what you find, and what finds you. I know you still miss those people."

"I do. They were so sweet. I miss their zeal and energy and love. The idea of following peace. It's an attractive mindset and I miss feeling light."

"Maybe eat more vegetables and less fast food. What else is eating you?

"I think I've grieved my childhood long enough."

"Don't you want to ask your therapist if you're rushing the grieving process before you finalize that thought?"

"Eh. I spent a long time in denial. And I'm pretty sure I've moved from grief to anger. Actually, I think it's more like fury. Rage. Constant, sun-bright rage. It's like fuel: it keeps me going at work for endless days of false smiles and small talk with human beings."

"You keep using that phrase, "human beings," as if you yourself aren't one. Don't you realize you have plenty of traits that render you despicable?"

"Wow, thanks a lot. That really helps tear down my insecurities."

"I'm sorry. 'All our righteousness as filthy rags,' though, remember? Look, maybe if you stopped chalking your flaws up to other things, and just accepted that you're the innkeeper that would've turned Jesus' parents away because you were sold out and couldn't be bothered, maybe you could finally take a step forward."

"I haven't thought about what a bad person I am in a practical light instead of tragic, self-pitying one in a while..."

"It shows. But like they say at work, you are empowered. You can change. You need saving grace just as badly as any person you've ever hated over petty stuff."

"You're right. I am not a prisoner of my upbringing, good or bad. I am not a slave to my old self. I can change. I don't have to hate things or people to have an identity."

"Right! And you don't have to make yourself into a different person on your own overnight, either. You're already a new creation. Just don't make Him drag you around the rest of the year. Get up and walk."















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