This is an excerpt from Karen O' Connor
Believing that somehow we aren't enough--not pretty enough, thin enough, sexy enough,patient enough. Enough, whatever that is, we aren't it. Deep in our guts we honestly believe that we're defective in some way that can never be fixed....Bankruptcy doesn't work because being in debt is not really a money issue. It is an issue of self-esteem and our feelings of not being enough, doing enough, or having enough. Women in debt try to fill the emptiness inside by spending money on themselves or others.
Hannah Whitall Smith, author of The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life warns us that:
"There is never any 'profit' in it, but always a grievous loss, and it can never turn out to be anything but 'vanity and vexation of spirit.' Have we not all discovered something of this in our experience? You have set your heart, perhaps, on procuring something for the benefit or pleasure of your own great big ME; but when you have secured it, this ungrateful ME has refused to be satisfied, and has turned away from what it has cost you so much to procure, in weariness and disgust. Never, under any circumstances, has it really in the end paid you to try and exalt your great exacting ME, for always, sooner or later, it has all proved to be 'nothing but vanity and vexation of spirit."
Safe to say, it is only when we look at the cross that we see the true worth of human beings. The cross of Christ supplies the answer for it calls us both to self-denial and self-affirmation.
Am i supposed to love or hate myself? John R. W. Stott says "a satisfactory answer cannot be given without reference to the cross."
Favorite Links
About Me
- Kaleidoscope
- My mind wanders, as i scrupulously speculate, how my life metamorphosed, like a fuzzy, green caterpillar into an astonishing butterfly, from a carefree, giddy girl to a half sophisticated-half siren. From the time i recapitulate, my diminutive accomplishments, and figured that there is nothing left to boast, but an ambiguous, uncomely candor, of the vicissitudes of my existence, i resolve to alter my caliginous predestination. My quest for Utopian abode dwells surreptitiously, beyond my acquisitive, hypothetical imagination, that amidst this thwarting turmoil of a tormenting journey, lies beneath is the pulchritude, of a tranquil placid state, that i succinctly depict. But uncertain ere my dreams no longer transpire, oblivious of the circumstances ahead, equivocal if i can surmount grotesque, arduous endeavor, ergo, i shun to momentarily condone this agony, still hearkening that hereafter, afflictions be transformed to bliss, foe to comrade, arraignment to exoneration, apprehensions to nonchalance and nonentity to reality. This is the kaleidoscope of my classical passion.
