This week has been full of tears, full of struggles. Betrayal, regret, remorse and anger. Then an acceptance and a fond remembrance of the lessons I once learnt in that book of Life- that we love our enemies and pray for them, that we seek justice not for ourselves but give it liberally, that we put our worth not in the affirmation of Man but in a Father up above who loves us and seeks to fight for us.
This week has been one full of disappointment, full of discouragement, full of heavyheartness. And a silent knowing that everything is out of my control: that sometimes we try hard, but don’t succeed, that sometimes we battle not to fight, but still bleed. At times I wonder if this doctoring business is really meant for me- if I would not have been better off being a medical social worker, or a counselor, or a pastor, but here I am, caught in every day living, asking God why the in-between is such a vast gray space between longing and fulfillment.
There are bright moments of course, of loving colleagues and patients who appreciate you. But somehow, the single complaint or harsh word has such a tendency to marr out the watercolor painting you painstaking polished to become a masterpiece. It is lost, and you stand in silence, in utter shock, not quite knowing what to do from here.
Start again? But you had come so far. Give up? And for a moment, it just seems the easier way. One’s mind travels and imagines the million possibilities outside the frame of this watercolor mess.
I have been living far too independently from God. And perhaps, all I really need, instead of running away, is to run back into the open arms of a Father who gives grace and mercy, is slow to anger, and ever abounding in love.
Instead of running away, perhaps what we really need sometimes, is to Run To.