I don't understand. What's wrong with being happy in spite of one's poverty? Does it just bother you that you haven't attained the same mentality with respect to monetary status? Or is it something more? Would you have respected her if she were discontented with her life? Why, why, why?
I know this girl. No, start over; I know of this girl. I avoid her, so I don't actually know her. I avoid her because she makes me feel like a fake, like a heathen, like shit, every time I talk to her. She's not rich. She's not athletic. She's not brilliant. She's not pretty. And she won't take my pity. She's compassionate. She's humble. She's happy. She's so freaking beautiful inside that it makes me sick.
She knows my name, says it every time she sees me. No matter how I respond, every time its the same cheerful greeting. Her smile says she likes me. I can't stand how honestly she says it. On her worst days, she's smiling quietly. On her best she's singing to the beat of her skipping feet. I can't stand it. She has so much less than me, but she's the one who's happy. Everything's in my favor, but that doesn't faze her. She's content in her life while I'm content in my dreams.
In September, the last time I really talked to her, she told me how she spent the summer with an old woman close to school so she could work on campus. The woman thought herself unlovable. This girl loved her anyway. On the last day of her stay, the woman said she'd never felt loved before, and then she cried. This girl's eyes lit up, so excited to have poured herself out for another's happiness. I asked her if she still saw the lady -- my cynicism led me to believe she'd desert as soon as the job was done. She looked at me, a little disappointed, as if she knew. "No, I don't see her anymore. The day after I left, she died."
Yea, she's an angel too. As if she wasn't already so far above me.
Oh, to be so holy, so happy, so humble. If I could be like her, but then no, because I'm me. She's her, simply who God made her to be. I'm me; I want simply to be who God made me to be. Oh God, let it be.
So are you happy being you? Evidently, she is happy with herself. Is that what bothers you?
Have you ever seen a heartbeat? Have you ever smelled somethin hard? Have you ever dreamed a love? Have you ever prayed until you thought you would die?
I don't understand. What's wrong with being happy in spite of one's poverty? Does it just bother you that you haven't attained the same mentality with respect to monetary status? Or is it something more? Would you have respected her if she were discontented with her life? Why, why, why?
ReplyDeleteI know this girl. No, start over; I know of this girl. I avoid her, so I don't actually know her. I avoid her because she makes me feel like a fake, like a heathen, like shit, every time I talk to her. She's not rich. She's not athletic. She's not brilliant. She's not pretty. And she won't take my pity. She's compassionate. She's humble. She's happy. She's so freaking beautiful inside that it makes me sick.
ReplyDeleteShe knows my name, says it every time she sees me. No matter how I respond, every time its the same cheerful greeting. Her smile says she likes me. I can't stand how honestly she says it. On her worst days, she's smiling quietly. On her best she's singing to the beat of her skipping feet. I can't stand it. She has so much less than me, but she's the one who's happy. Everything's in my favor, but that doesn't faze her. She's content in her life while I'm content in my dreams.
In September, the last time I really talked to her, she told me how she spent the summer with an old woman close to school so she could work on campus. The woman thought herself unlovable. This girl loved her anyway. On the last day of her stay, the woman said she'd never felt loved before, and then she cried. This girl's eyes lit up, so excited to have poured herself out for another's happiness. I asked her if she still saw the lady -- my cynicism led me to believe she'd desert as soon as the job was done. She looked at me, a little disappointed, as if she knew. "No, I don't see her anymore. The day after I left, she died."
Yea, she's an angel too. As if she wasn't already so far above me.
Oh, to be so holy, so happy, so humble. If I could be like her, but then no, because I'm me. She's her, simply who God made her to be. I'm me; I want simply to be who God made me to be. Oh God, let it be.
So are you happy being you? Evidently, she is happy with herself. Is that what bothers you?
ReplyDeleteHave you ever seen a heartbeat? Have you ever smelled somethin hard? Have you ever dreamed a love? Have you ever prayed until you thought you would die?