The Conviction of Right

       Humans are obsessed with being right--a trait very evident in my family. We're so convinced we're right we must hit our heads on the wall--repeatedly at times--before admitting to being wrong. And then we apologize. I'd viewed determination to be right a negative trait. But I've discovered it's more.
      I cannot do the impossible unless I know it is right to do so. My life is impossible, by human standards. I am only attempting it because I believe God called me to it. Or believed. As long as God was on my side, as long as I was doing right, the obstacles did not matter, nor the sacrifices. But the rightness of my course has been called into question, and I am frozen inside, twisting, writhing, trying to come to grips with this.
    Because last night I reaffirmed my course, I believe it to be right...but others disagree. And common sense disagrees. And perhaps wisdom--I do not believe I have enough of that to judge. My own belief of rightness is not enough, because I have been too often wrong; I depend on other's judgement.
    But what of conviction? Without it, I cannot try and try and try and try and take the blows and climb those last few steps at the end of night when I have been doing so many things that day, and I cannot keep my temper. God, help. Show me what is right; lead me in your way.

Duty vs. Self Pity

     It was strange, this exhaustion, for despite the paper I had been working on, I was not mentally tired--perhaps because my physical tiredness gave me the inability to focus for more than half an hour at a time--but physically. Yet, tired as I am, I am torn, between spending time with my sisters, the chores that need to be done, that will allow my third sister to stay in bed longer this evening or work on her paper more and will take stress off of my sick mom, and between shrinking into myself and staying an introvert. The third option is not available. The first two, though...both exhausting (if my sisters are doing something active), both things need to be done, and both, even if I do these unselfish sounding actions, useless to God's kingdom unless I do them with humility and love, forgetting myself and my actions and praising God. To do these actions without complaint, inwardly or outwardly, to bear in love the reproaches or extra work that my siblings bring while I'm cleaning...well, let's just say it proves I am no saint. At all.
     Behind my attitude I start to build an impatience, an impatience that destroys humility and self-forgetfulness, an impatience with God, for have I not admitted that I cannot change my attitude on my own, cannot change a sinful heart? The impatience builds, wrapping around my heart, making me mutter inwardly at the two new glasses on the counter, at the loud voice of my sister who might wake my mom up whom I cannot rebuke without both of us losing our tempers...and I hate what is in me. My attitude is probably written all over my face, and I wonder why my service changes nothing? Ginny Owens wrote a song, I Am Nothing, (sorry about the pictures--it was the only one I could find), which illustrates this point better than this post ever will. God, I kneel, confessing I find it hard to wait on your timing, hard to follow your life, hard to obey your will. God, I want to live for you. Grant me a life that is submitted, joyfully, to your will as the priority of my life. In the name of Christ, amen.