Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Nor from which I could escape

Marching along as a middle-aged man in the sexagenarian decade of my life, every day is different and isn’t that wonderful?  Some days are better than others but realistically, every day is not a bowl of cherries. 

Sure, I can fake it that every day is great while flaunting a big cheesy smile but at the end of the day, I’m stuck with myself and if my deck of cards deals me a spade for the day, rather than a heart, that’s the way it is and I must accept my hand while playing my poker game of life.

That’s not to say, however, that despite a “bad day”, whatever that means to you and me, that there still isn’t something good to be had from it.  It’s just that I must search a little harder to find its diamond in the rough because it’s buried deep in a pile of misery and wretchedness. 

What gets me through days like this are to count my blessings because they still exist; to be grateful for all that I have, humble and acknowledge that it could all be taken away from me in a heartbeat.  The biblical story of Job is a good read when I’m having a day that feels like Job living in Uz when his life suddenly turned upside down.

Best to double down my efforts to avoid, or at least minimize, the time spent in a state of being described by St. Augustine in his classic The Confessions of St. Augustine where he shares:

“I was weighed down by a grievous load of wretchedness . . . I still remained to myself an unhappy place where I could neither be, nor from which I could escape.”

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

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