essence

There is something about our bike path that stimulates neurons in certain areas of my brain that I often purposely do not allow myself to access.

After walking by the waterfall and taking a minute to listen to the rushing water and allow my spirit to feel cleansed and calmed, Addison and I headed out for some brisk walking.

As I walked by 3 lilac bushes, I pined for a sprig. I had an inner dialogue with myself arguing over whether or not it would be stealing to break one off. I looked around for the owner of the lilac bushes, wishing they would magically appear so I could tell a tale of how these are my mother's favorite flower and how I miss her so and how having one would be a beautiful concession on his or her part. But alas, I walked away flowerless, and unsettled.

I think I had too much Hollywood while Dan was gone. I watched a bunch of indulgent movies that basically promoted the line of thought of "why must we deny ourselves? We only get to live once? You should make this life as happy as you can."

If I hadn't chosen to follow Christ, would I too live within that line of reasoning? As His emulator, why can't I do or have things that make me happy just for the sake of denying myself? Must I really only eat 2 squares of chocolate so that I am not abusing my 'temple'? What a waste that would be if I died in 2 months and it didn't matter anyway? Indulgent thinking that started making me feel sick, but led me to a place of healthy catharsis. Exploring my heart and mind to be sure I truly believe what I do, finding freedom in the way that I choose to believe and live and freedom and power in knowing that I am not a pre-programmed and unfeeling robot. I do get to choose how I live.

As I walked by some Lily of the Valley flowers, their scent did something to me. Smell is a powerful stimulant and this particular scent is a summation of the essence of my childhood. Beautiful, sweet, happy, pure, hopeful, to be cherished, remembered. Again I wanted to pick one so I could bask in the scent and revel in memories all the way home. But again, these flowers weren't mine, and I have a whole patch that are all my own in my backyard. Why is it that what we don't have is so much more compelling than what we do have? So much more tempting? Seemingly better when in reality it is exactly the same?

So many thoughts, so little time and energy to walk them out on the bike path...