no veggies for me.

Since childhood I have felt a certain rebellion against things that are deemed "good for me" by my elders. Peas, green beans and any vegetable other than corn were the enemy at the dinner table every night. We were required to have at least one bite in the hopes that one day that one bite would lead to another and we'd clear the plate of all the nutritious morsels.

Adolescence brought rebellion against curfews, laws and family bonding. I could never understand why I had to be home in bed at "a decent hour" just because my parents were incapable of staying up that late. It seemed all adults were cohorts in killing the fun. After all, when you're sixteen and you fall asleep right after school for two to three hours you're just not sleepy at eleven!

This same pattern of rebellion is being unveiled in my life today. Not in the same ways... I love all veggies and eat them first (thanks, mom) and I am typically asleep by eleven at the latest-- incapable of comprehending how people can still be social at such an hour. It is true I am growing up and turning into the fuddy duddy adult I viewed my parents to be.
I still struggle with submission. I can't seem to submit to suffering. It's the common thread since I was kid- as I viewed eating things that tasted like grass and going to bed before the sun set as suffering.

I have positioned myself so that the least amount of suffering can graze my life. Unfortunately, in all my human efforts I have been completely and utterly unsuccessful. Suffering, in some ways, is my life. Even the act of running from it causes it.

I've slowed down and allowed some of it to catch up to me in the last couple of weeks. In all the lessons I learned from my parents I'm not sure they passed this one down to me. I pull and pull against the current to avoid pain and yet it comes anyway. Nobody taught me how to suffer. Sure, we've been suffering since I can remember-- hasn't everyone in some way? But the act of submitting to it and allowing it to transform you is a whole different ball game.

Suffering scares me. I have led myself to believe it is a black hole from which nobody returns in one piece. I shudder at the thought of falling in... or even letting a toe in... and finding that I can't break free.
The truth is that suffering, according to scripture, is what creates hope. (Romans 5) Why, then, if it creates such an incredible thing that we constantly beg for in our lives... why do we run from it? Why is our instinct to avoid it?

An excerpt from Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman:

"The adverse winds blew against my life;
My little ship with grief was tossed;
My plans were gone--- heart full of strife,
And all my hope seemed to be lost---
"Then He arose" --- one word of peace.
"There was a calm" --- a sweet release.

A tempest great of doubt and fear
Possessed my mind; no light was there
To guide, or make my vision clear.
Dark night! 'twas more than I could bear ----
"Then He arose," I saw His face---
"There was a calm" filled with His grace.

My heart was sinking 'neath the wave
Of deepening test and raging grief;
All seemed as lost, and none could save,
And nothing could bring me relief---
"Then He arose" ---and spoke one word,
"There was a calm!" "IT IS THE LORD."
-L.S.P.