What? I didn't publish for two days? Way to go, idiot. I just want to say a few things. I saw 'The Hunger Games' tonight; yes, it is as good as you've heard. I didn't finish the book in time, but what I did was pretty precisely followed by the film. The author wrote the screenplay, which is likely to work well. The book is enthralling, (so far) as is the movie. I won't discuss the plot here; you can find out on your own.
I went with a close friend. She's attractive, and she well knows how I feel. But it's not the right time. Maybe it will never be. I think I'm OK with that. All I find myself praying is not to lose this close friend as I lost the last. We're always in a battle with ourselves as guys, between doing and seeking the good for another, and what we desire. For me, it's a special challenge.
If you have a severe physical disability/challenge/whatever we're calling it now, the biggest struggle you will ever face is wanting to be known and loved for what you are. Mind you, not simply accepted. Loved. And known. We all want it, but as the great Stanley Hauerwas said recently in my hearing, people with disabilities have a special grace: we are utterly unable to hide our need, whether physical, emotional, or otherwise. Our flaws usually make it impossible. And there is a merciful awkwardness that cannot be denied. We are somehow special, somehow different, but we desire to be the same. I want to know that you and I look through the same eyes, even though by God's plan, we never will completely. I still feel much like I did when I wrote this, but I have come to acknowledge my distinctness, not as an excuse, but as a reality it profits no one to avoid.
When I destroyed something I valued highly by my own stupidity, I'm not trying to shift blame, but it came from this special fear that is always there. I have always felt I could break any wall, I could make any friend. On the one hand, I'm one of those ridiculous people who would hear of being disliked, and reflexively disbelieve it as impossible. In some way, I really like myself, and I think you should, too.
But the terror is that there's one wall I'll never break: the romantic one. You think no able-bodied woman will ever love you. It's wrong and ill-founded, but as time passes, it gains a plausibility it shouldn't. It may have made my jealousy and selfishness worse. And it really isn't fair to dump it all on a person. That said, I never thought it would turn out so bad.
It scares me to no end that I'll mess this thing up in every way possible. I told her this. I mentioned my mistakes, and how I hoped I'd not do it again. I value this friendship so much. I want to give, no matter what. But to feel for her in a special way is so natural, so easy. I'm not sure I can undo it.
We talked about how we wished we lived closer, and how we appreciate what we have. And if it became more, this thing we built will be part of it. But can I do this? How selfless am I, really?
I miss the voices of those who've gone away. How I could use their advice right now! Don't forget me, in life or in prayers.
I went with a close friend. She's attractive, and she well knows how I feel. But it's not the right time. Maybe it will never be. I think I'm OK with that. All I find myself praying is not to lose this close friend as I lost the last. We're always in a battle with ourselves as guys, between doing and seeking the good for another, and what we desire. For me, it's a special challenge.
If you have a severe physical disability/challenge/whatever we're calling it now, the biggest struggle you will ever face is wanting to be known and loved for what you are. Mind you, not simply accepted. Loved. And known. We all want it, but as the great Stanley Hauerwas said recently in my hearing, people with disabilities have a special grace: we are utterly unable to hide our need, whether physical, emotional, or otherwise. Our flaws usually make it impossible. And there is a merciful awkwardness that cannot be denied. We are somehow special, somehow different, but we desire to be the same. I want to know that you and I look through the same eyes, even though by God's plan, we never will completely. I still feel much like I did when I wrote this, but I have come to acknowledge my distinctness, not as an excuse, but as a reality it profits no one to avoid.
When I destroyed something I valued highly by my own stupidity, I'm not trying to shift blame, but it came from this special fear that is always there. I have always felt I could break any wall, I could make any friend. On the one hand, I'm one of those ridiculous people who would hear of being disliked, and reflexively disbelieve it as impossible. In some way, I really like myself, and I think you should, too.
But the terror is that there's one wall I'll never break: the romantic one. You think no able-bodied woman will ever love you. It's wrong and ill-founded, but as time passes, it gains a plausibility it shouldn't. It may have made my jealousy and selfishness worse. And it really isn't fair to dump it all on a person. That said, I never thought it would turn out so bad.
It scares me to no end that I'll mess this thing up in every way possible. I told her this. I mentioned my mistakes, and how I hoped I'd not do it again. I value this friendship so much. I want to give, no matter what. But to feel for her in a special way is so natural, so easy. I'm not sure I can undo it.
We talked about how we wished we lived closer, and how we appreciate what we have. And if it became more, this thing we built will be part of it. But can I do this? How selfless am I, really?
I miss the voices of those who've gone away. How I could use their advice right now! Don't forget me, in life or in prayers.
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