In the middle of this, I'm also painfully aware of my shallow longings and desires for the things of this world which hold absolutely no eternal value. I'm not criticizing anyone but myself; I just notice my love of things and my desire to be accepted. What does it matter? What difference does it make? Vain and empty conceit. Is it Ecclesiastes where Solomon speaks of this?
I wonder to myself... do I live passionately enough for Jesus? The hurting people I mention have varied forms of faith - some very intense, some none at all. The questions flit across my mind - How do some keep their faith? How does anyone cope without it?
I'm slowly reading Ann Voscamp's, 1000 Gifts. The book challenges me to my core. In that very same essence of myself I find myself equally sad and joyful. I'm considering how dark and scary a night can be and hoping, so fervently, that when my darkest time comes I will have known such a passion with Jesus Christ that I can know with confidence that I will again yet praise Him.
Today I bask in the comfort, joy and peace of my Savior, aware that it is He who filters the events of my life through His hands. He knows the plans He has for me. What sweet comfort this gives.