pg. 178--
All these years, these angers, these hardenings, this desire to control, I had thought I had to snap the hand closed to shield joy's fragile flame from the blasts. In a storm of struggles, I had tried to control the elements, clasp the fist tight so as to protect self and happiness. But palms curled into protective fists fill with darkness. I feel that sharply...even in this...and this realization in all its emptiness: My own wild desire to PROTECT my joy at all costs is the exact force that KILL my joy.
Flames need oxygen to light.
Flames need a bit of wind.
pg. 180--
"No one ever said to God, 'Thy will be done,' and meant it with his heart, ever failed to find joy--not just in heaven, or even down the road in the future in this world, but in this world AT THAT VERY MOMENT." --Peter Kreeft
pg. 181--
I accept the gift of now as it is--accept God--for I can't be receptive to God unless I receive what He gives.
pg. 195--
Christian hands never clasp and He doesn't give gifts for gain because a gift can never stop being a gift--it is always meant to be given.
pg. 203--
It's impossible to give thanks and simultaneously feel fear.
pg. 205--
That heavy beat of failure, a pounding bass of disappointment, it has pulsed through my days and I've mouthed the words, singing it to myself, memorizing the ugly lines of my heart. For years, I tried medication, blade, work, escape, all attempts to drown out that incessant, reverberating drum of self-rejection.
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