Tuesday, February 25, 2003
One of the chapters at the end of WITH NEW EYES asks a very piercing question of me: do I feel? Am I capable of feeling deeply? Margaret recounts a conversation with a friend - a coffee break becomes heart surgery. Her friend wishes that her heart were made of leather, but both know that they haven't hurt as much as others have, that they haven't grown through the pain as well as others have. "To feel is to grow, and to grow is to live."
Am I growing? My gut reaction is yes, no, maybe. I must be growing - things are changing, right? But am I changing, or am I settling into a malaise that I had been fighting to avoid? I'll be honest - I don't like what I see in the mirror most mornings. Don't like what I'm becoming, what I'm "settling for." Don't like my passionless existence, my lack of focus and drive and pursuit.
But I do feel deeply, don't I? While I pshaw at empty and droopy sentimentality, I tear up at the sight of a child and her mother, at the image of a gentleman pausing to smell a flower, at the thought of holding my daughter tonight as she goes to sleep and years from now as she overcomes her fear, at the thought of playing gold with my son and watching him out drive me on the fairway.
I get caught up in the sentiment myself, but I lack the impetus to press towards the ideal I know is simply there. Somewhere along the way, even while still walking and still navigating and still hitting the path... I need to regain the umph that makes it worthwhile. Oh, Lord, anoint me in Your presence... fill me with Your Spirit. I will to willfully pursue You, O God my Father. Jesus, walk with me... hold my hand, and let me be compelled to run with You, towards You. In Jesus' name... amen.
I want to feel deeply. I want to pursue passionately. I stop just existing, and I compel myself to truly live.