From the Mud Puddle

I'm trying my best, I really am.
I want very much to be kind and good, contientious and responsible, a good friend and a loving wife. Isn't that enough? Isn't that living?
God gave us life, didn't He? Isn't it enough for Him that we live it well?

Well, it might be if we could actually do it.
But we can't.
I am not good. I am lazy and selfish. Love is an effort. Charity is a discipline. Goodness is an ever-escaping echo of a lesson learned long ago, but constantly forgotten.
I will live not able to measure up, and then I will die.

Though his excellence mount up to the heavens and his head reach the clouds, yet he shall perish forever, like his own dung; those who have seen him will say, 'Where is he?'--Job 20:6-7

No wonder Job sat in the mud puddle, depressed.
Talk about epic fail.
I'm so there, too.
I can't win.  I can't do the one thing I want so much to do, the only thing that makes my life worth living.

And that's why I believe God.
It just doesn't make sense any other way.
I know there was beauty in man once. The remnant of it still shows itself at the edges of the ruin, but I can't put my arms fully around it.
I can't be a good person, so I either stay here in the mud or let God lift me out. 

Life is not the taking of successive breaths. It is not preservation of flesh.
Life is finding and holding a ever-fresh beauty that lasts.
Only God offers this, and only He brings what I lack.
Only a life with God makes sense, and if I love life, I must love God.