The Days I Can't

        Today is one of those days. It’s been one of those months actually, if I’m being honest with myself, where every aspect of life seems harder to live. My chores are more daunting, my work is more time-consuming, my relationships are more draining, my jeans are harder to button, and my dreams seem less probable of achieving. It’s even harder to get out of bed each morning, as if gravity is somehow stronger and heavier than it’s been in months past. Perhaps it’s the rotation of the earth or the position of the stars. Or maybe this layer of Los Angeles smog that daily obscures my view has finally grown so powerful and thick that it’s sucking up the oxygen from right in front of me, making every movement of my body and soul more energy-demanding. 
        I like to reason these ideas are true and valid excuses for my sluggish and sorrowful behavior. But then I catch a glimpse of the other people around me moving just as fast and cheerfully as ever. It’s as if the rest of the world didn’t get my memo that today was a bad day. And even more than that, it’s as if they got a memo that today was supposed to be one of the happiest days of their lives. It shames me to say this, but a weird jealousy and bitter feeling takes over my heart when I see the rest of the world having fun despite my sorrow. I can sympathize with the Grinch at Christmas time when the rest of the world is celebrating despite his reservations and problems. 

I know this is no way to live. I cannot continue to let my sorrow keep me from living and pushing forward. This journey I’m on is painful and is wearing me down, but I know that Christ has promised to bring to completion everything He has begun in me. So despite feeling the effects of gravity more intensely than I normally would, I will choose to rejoice today in who my Savior is and what He is doing in my heart, though I cannot see it yet. Because the beautiful thing about the gift of the cross is that even on the days that I can’t, my Savior can.