A friend recently challenged me. He said he sensed no struggle in me. He wants to see my struggle. I seem arrogant to him, like I have all the answers. He wants to know that I'm vulnerable. This really had an effect on me and led to a bout of soul-searching, introspection and self-examination which caused me to write down some things I was feeling a few days ago:
I'm dying. I'm 50 and the realization of my mortality is setting in. Melancholy, gray clouds hover above. I'm realizing how I truly do love some of the things of this world. My wife, my sons, beauty, music, nature, art, languages, animals, architecture. Somehow, I'm just now understanding why people write poetry. I ache. I hope and pray that the things I love in this world are just a glimmer of what the world beyond is like. That they are a shade of what that true reality is.
I focus on the heart of God. My surroundings are dissolving. I see their relative importance fade, dissolve in the light of the heart of God. There is truth. I cower and despair at the magnitude of it. Awestruck.
I'm dying and it makes me sad. People talk about "having no regrets." I have regrets. All of the unfulfilled dreams. The time wasted on trivialities. The spiritual damage and destruction that I've wrought. I wish I'd been more gentle and kind to my wife and children. Less arrogant and judgmental. I wish I'd been more compassionate and empathetic to those around me. I wish I had tried harder to understand others than to be understood. I'm scared. I question my own beliefs. Is what I "know" truth? What is "truth?"
I'm comforted knowing that God is God. Sovereign. His will be done. I feel like I'm falling into the heart of God. Being subsumed into Him. Becoming one with Him. Is this what it means to die to myself? It's exciting, but scary. I cling to what I know; to my senses, to the world. It occurs to me that what I see is not a true reflection of what is, unless I look with spiritual eyes. I know I will be better losing myself and becoming part of Him.
I feel torn apart. I long for God and to be godly. It's an inconsolable longing because I'll never be like Him. I fall. I get up. I fall. I get up....
It's been a few days since I wrote the above. I've overcome some of the melancholy expressed, but I'm still a little exhausted by it. And probably better for it. Who knows what lies ahead?
Thanks for being there...Kim