Flying Purple People Eater

I have to confess something. I have this alter ego....she comes out about twice a year right around finals time. She's not a friend either, she's a monster rampaging and ravaging all contentedness in lieu of satiating a hunger to complain.

Let's just say, she's baaaaaaaack. I try so hard to fight this, but after 3 years in college, I've just come to find out that this is a big ole' ugly part of me. A part I'm trying to actively repent of. And this is the horrible other side of it, I am the queen of the self-imposed guilt trip. Regardless of whether others are burdened by my selfishness, I recognize it, I know it's there, I berate myself for it, and the flying purple people eater grows.

I guess I'm still riding the learning curve when it comes to knowing myself. I know and I see this cycle, but seeing doesn't change me. These are the seasons when I am so grateful to sit back and rest in the fact that despite my selfish, conceited heart that would doesn't want to fight through the next three weeks, God doesn't leave me here to stew in my guilt.

Years ago I remember lying in my mother's bed with her stroking my hair, softly telling me to repeat after her:

For I am convinced, that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of Jesus Christ our Lord. (Rmns 8:38-39)

And she brings it back up years later, telling me to lean into it. Reminding me that I'm not yet convinced of it. That I still allow myself to think I've screwed up so badly that I'm pushed a little farther out from Love, and worst of all, that I can separate myself from the Christ. So I repeat it to myself. And I start over, allowing myself to remember that I get to reap the benefit of new mercy. 

But it is so effing hard. I just can't say that eloquently. But hardness doesn't give me the right or permission to stop trying, to stop remembering, and to stop resting. Remembering is what brings me back, it's what sustains. Remembering coddles me here again to see with clear eyes that these are the moments when Brooke Fraser rings loudly in my head singing "as I wait for You maybe I'm made more faithful." 

I may be ugly to people, but I'm asking to be conscientious enough to change. I may be guilt-ridden, but I am becoming more convinced. 

Three weeks. I can make it. I will make it.