Subtitle: Or, at the least, I think I believe
Sub-subtitle: Or, at the most, I believe I know
Whenever I’m in a hurry to get somewhere, sometimes it’s because I started too late to arrive on time. Most of the time, it’s because my “to-do” list is too ambitious, too long.
When that happens, it’s usually because I’m impatient. Not about what, but with whom. Me. That I, just as I am, am not enough. Therefore, I must do more, so to be more. (A long ago implanted, now, lifelong psychological tape runs on a constant conscious reel-to-reel. The message: “Paul, you’re only as good as your last good deed.”)
The remedy to my manic madness of impossibly trying to do more so to be more? Accepting (as a creation of God, delighting in) myself, as an olden hymn sings, “Just as I am, without one plea.”
When that happens, I can enjoy life’s journey without worrying about reaching the destination. I can stand still, appreciating the here-and-now, whilst gazing at the distant horizon; trusting that “there” will be there whenever (or if) I get there.
© 2022 PRA