Automatically, I turn to my God to utter my disgust about some people and situations. Pray I do, asking for deliverance from circumstances that really, really break my heart. I wonder why there are people that seem to not grow up and stuck to their selfish perception of what life is. It is sad that some of them are close to my heart. Yet they simply do not care. They tell me without words but with might that I have to accept the platter of plain and putrid rations they offer. What a way to impose one’s self to others.
I am rendered helpless. Then I start asking myself, “Is this about me at all? Does this reflect that I am a horrible person to elicit such depressing actuations from these people?” I try very hard to be good at people, to maintain composure (if not, all hell breaks loose), and to share what I learned about struggles.
I refuse to accept that this is about me. Not at all, one of the beloved would say. Perhaps these people deem their own ways, though unacceptable to me as one of the audience, as right for whatever reason they have. Besides, thinking about these as about me would make me egocentric, too. No, this should not be about me because they are the ones that weave their own web of life; they are responsible for the sources they get. Other people should not be blamed for the crap they’re into. It is always a choice.
I keep on imploring the aid of the Almighty. I do not care if others do not choose to have a God that I believe sustains me the strength but I do care about these people’s awakening, that they have to let themselves be whole first and not the other way around – believing that another person makes them, or other people make them, whole.