It is tough for me to be patient. In general, and even with myself. The sample of my life that relates to this topic (recently) is my fear. Or insecurity. Whatever you want to call it.
I will just call this particular moment an "episode of irrational emotion." Yes, I am in control of my emotions. Yes, in my head, I can argue rationally about anything I may be feeling. Did it make me feel better at the time? No.
I knew I had no reason to feel lonely. I had no reason to spend nearly the whole day on my own. I could've called a friend. Or my mom. Taken the initiative to spend some time with another human being.
Instead I got lonely, and I let myself wallow in that feeling, which then turned into frustration, because somehow loneliness in me often turns "righteous", though not rightful. It gets all huffy, and tries to make its argument by saying, "Look! For all the so-called friends you have, not one of them is calling you! No one is looking for the chance to hang out with you. Doesn't that mean something? Are you expected to always be the one to work for that friendship?" Loneliness (mentally personified) then goes on to relate all the things I have done to make myself worthy of a friend, all the little things I have put into a particular relationship—any relationship—to show I am a "good" friend. A person worth having around.
So, I shed a few tears that day. Still alone. And I told myself (rationally) that it was ridiculous to get so worked up about such little things. That I had God, and could never truly be alone. That I was so much less "alone" than millions of people in the world. That I would feel better the next day. That I shouldn't be so hard on myself, and I should be patient with my fears. That it's ok to have insecurities once we acknowledge them in ourselves. Because then I can bring it back to the Lord. It is not my own little dark corner, unrevealed to the Light and hidden even from my own eyes.
I have to continue being patient with myself. Particularly with my weaknesses. Maybe they're faults. Fault/weakness—it all means imperfect anyway. And the root of this particular episode is not, I think, a fear of loneliness, but actually a deeper belief in my own control of my world. That fear of loneliness was only a symptom of my belief that I can actually do things to be something. That I take action, "take steps", toward being a better friend.
Yes, of course, this is exactly what virtue is. Actions that turn into habits that make us better people. But underneath all that is this current of truth. I am not the maker of my life. I have the free will to choose, to decide which way to go. But my being something, my existence, even my being someone can never be defined by what I do. It can never be controlled in that way. Why? Because I exist in the thought of Another. I cease to exist if He ceases to think of me. I am someone because a Being outside of my control loved me into that someone. And I could no more remove my own "someone-ness" than I could turn into a bird.
The Lord's got to take the reins. It's clear to me that I need to lose a bit more control.
I will just call this particular moment an "episode of irrational emotion." Yes, I am in control of my emotions. Yes, in my head, I can argue rationally about anything I may be feeling. Did it make me feel better at the time? No.
I knew I had no reason to feel lonely. I had no reason to spend nearly the whole day on my own. I could've called a friend. Or my mom. Taken the initiative to spend some time with another human being.
Instead I got lonely, and I let myself wallow in that feeling, which then turned into frustration, because somehow loneliness in me often turns "righteous", though not rightful. It gets all huffy, and tries to make its argument by saying, "Look! For all the so-called friends you have, not one of them is calling you! No one is looking for the chance to hang out with you. Doesn't that mean something? Are you expected to always be the one to work for that friendship?" Loneliness (mentally personified) then goes on to relate all the things I have done to make myself worthy of a friend, all the little things I have put into a particular relationship—any relationship—to show I am a "good" friend. A person worth having around.
So, I shed a few tears that day. Still alone. And I told myself (rationally) that it was ridiculous to get so worked up about such little things. That I had God, and could never truly be alone. That I was so much less "alone" than millions of people in the world. That I would feel better the next day. That I shouldn't be so hard on myself, and I should be patient with my fears. That it's ok to have insecurities once we acknowledge them in ourselves. Because then I can bring it back to the Lord. It is not my own little dark corner, unrevealed to the Light and hidden even from my own eyes.
I have to continue being patient with myself. Particularly with my weaknesses. Maybe they're faults. Fault/weakness—it all means imperfect anyway. And the root of this particular episode is not, I think, a fear of loneliness, but actually a deeper belief in my own control of my world. That fear of loneliness was only a symptom of my belief that I can actually do things to be something. That I take action, "take steps", toward being a better friend.
Yes, of course, this is exactly what virtue is. Actions that turn into habits that make us better people. But underneath all that is this current of truth. I am not the maker of my life. I have the free will to choose, to decide which way to go. But my being something, my existence, even my being someone can never be defined by what I do. It can never be controlled in that way. Why? Because I exist in the thought of Another. I cease to exist if He ceases to think of me. I am someone because a Being outside of my control loved me into that someone. And I could no more remove my own "someone-ness" than I could turn into a bird.
The Lord's got to take the reins. It's clear to me that I need to lose a bit more control.
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