Broken

Sometimes I think that if I'm not happy I'm broken, that something's wrong with me. After all, "Adam fell that men might be and men are that they might have joy right?" That must mean that we always have to be happy, and that we always have to be perfect. I don't think so.

While in college I've been afraid to let myself cry. I've been afraid to acknowledge that I don't know everything, or that I don't have all the answers. I know these things but I leave them pent up inside, eating at me until I am consumed, feasted on by worry, doubt, and total confusion. I am left a puddled mess of goo and moldy sickness.

But sometimes, I don't have to have total control, or I don't have to pretend like I have control when I don't. I am an adult, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to cry when things get rough, and oh yeah--they do. And that's ok. Things get rough, but that means we are amazing people for overcoming. We wouldn't mean nearly as much if we weren't put through hard times and trials. We wouldn't be incredible and shiny if we weren't continually put through the refiner's fire. As my friend Joel would say, "Life sucks and then you die." Oh man. I love Joel.

But that's really beside the point. The point is, it's ok to cry. Maybe that's one of the reasons I loved camp so much this past summer, because I actually allowed myself to cry. Who am I kidding? I thought camp was incredible last summer because I had a great time. I did, but truth be told it was one of the hardest times of my life. And maybe I loved it because of it. The lows are what make us who we are. It's not how we act in the good times, but the bad times that shows character.

I'd just like to end with a little song clip. Gethsemane by Kenneth Cope.