My weakness

I'd like to think that I can remember the specific moment I decided I was done living life for myself. It should be easy, because I've done it more than once.

I've thought it through in my head, felt broken by it, made an arbitrary decision to abandon a self-centered lifestyle, and then gone right on to live my posh, American, all-about-me life. I'll take some mass-marketed self-absorption to go, brown bag, no ice. I'm sick of it, but the whole of me occupies my time, and my doubts and fears have a magical ability of being all-encompassing. I get caught up in a career, a lifestyle, and therefore a sad, solipsistic existence. Even as I sit here, I am trying to come up with excuses for this. There are none.

I am upset that things aren't going the way I want them to go, but maybe that's because I am blinded by selfish ambition. Maybe that's why doors have been shutting left and right. Slamming, as it were. Slamming doors aside, I still have more than I need, more than I deserve, and I am left asking, "Who am I to be blessed? What makes me deserving?" The answer is simple: nothing.

Nothing.

It is my duty to use the resources I have to help others. I chastise the rich for not doing enough, but I could do more; I just need a nudge to get me going. Perhaps a kick; something that makes me realize that this life I am living is not mine. I am reminded of something Paul said in Philippians, "do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves".

Once a month or so someone at my church gives their Faith Story. It is undoubtedly emotional, purging, eloquent. And every time I hear one, I wonder to myself what mine would include. What would move me to tears? How could I turn this humble, if not insipid, existence into something inspirational? I could come up with something, make it sound real, maybe even squeeze out a tear. Of course I can cry at the drop of a hat about my own life, a life of luxury, all the while stoic at the sight of those dying from war or hunger or disease. That is a sad, sad fact.

I sit here, future still unknown, needing God to change my heart, make me grow, help me find purpose, save me from myself. I just feel alone in it. I want Him to come sit by me, hold my hand, give me the strength to surrender my life to Him, completely, unabashedly, without reservation.

No one ever said it would be easy.

The Final Hour

My head and my eyes are heavy and while I should be, say, resting them, I choose to sit here. Mesmerized. Thinking someone might actually be reading this, my sad excuse for human communication. At lunch today, I sat down to my leftover penne and vegetables my personal chef (my sister) made and did a couple Wuzzles and the Cryptoquip in the Star Tribune. A couple other employees came in. We each sat at our respective tables, the fellow to my left biting an apple, the lady to my right reading the paper, the buzz of the Coke machine filling the silence. No one spoke, and I thought, "this is what's wrong with America".

I mean, that's just scratching the surface, and I am a loner so I'm not above reproach, and I've only been to eight other countries so I am far from seasoned, but this type of behavior is pathologically unusual from a global perspective. In a world where no one needs anyone, no one takes social responsibility. If anyone fails, it is a direct reflection on themselves, maybe their family, but not necessarily society. We "pull ourselves up by our bootstraps", having not been that far down to begin with, all the while washing our hands of any obligation to those in need. It's Social Darwinism at it's finest. We drive our fancy luxury cars, own our second homes, spoil our kids, and blatantly neglect any onus we have to a global, even local community literally dying in front of our eyes.

Oh, the sweet smell of hegemony. Oh, the aroma of imperialism.

To quote Lauryn Hill, "It's time to change the focus from the richest to the brokest".