The other day I was talking to a good friend about something I've been thinking through, praying about, and agonizing over for the past year. I said something along the lines of "... so now I'm just at a place where I have to accept things the way they are and move on with life." You know what she said back? "Yeah, but Laura, are you really doing that?"
Kudos to her for challenging me. Kudos to anyone and anything that can penetrate this ever-hardening shell of pride I keep myself locked in. I call that real friendship. Thanks, Lauren.
Honestly and frankly the answer to her question is No, I'm not. Why, you ask? Well, because this particular struggle is my favorite addiction. It's marvelously complex and unjustifiably simple at the same time. It surrounds me and occupies me. It envelops all I am and yet stands distinct from me. I don't know if it's in my power to change.
Yesterday the mother of my best friend growing up asked what she could do for my parents while my dad is sick. I didn't say anything of profound influence at the time, but later decided to hold quite firmly to a saying I learned as a child... a prayer my father taught me via a little golden statuette we once kept in the breakfast nook:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Indeed, serenity and courage have come easy enough at times... the wisdom is a work in progress.
