Do not think that my spiritual life is strewn with roses – that is the flower which I hardly ever find on my way. Quite the contrary, I have more often as my companion “darkness.” And when the night becomes very thick – and it seems to me as if I will end up in hell – then I simply offer myself to Jesus. If He wants me to go there – I am ready – but only under the condition that it really makes Him happy. ~ Mother Teresa
Mom and I lived in an old bungalow on York Street, just a few blocks from Washington Park. It was a single-story house with a large front porch, much like the one in the picture. The window above the porch provided the rising sun passage into an otherwise dark, creepy attic.
The house was eerie, like something out of a horror flick. Looking up from the street you could sometimes see a shadowy figure peering out from the attic window.
We were not alone.
Your soul cries out for relief. It does. Constantly. There are seasons of life when it cries out more than others. You may be in one of those seasons now.
How do I know this?
We have one of those quasi-fancy trash cans in our kitchen. You know, the kind with polished brushed metal and a pedal you step on to raise the lid. One Saturday morning I stepped on the pedal with my bare foot and my toe somehow got jammed and pinched. It hurt like a bleepedy-bleep! “Ooouuch-uh! I hate this stupid trash can!” I bellowed. My wife was standing by the sink and in a childlike tone mocked, “Aahhh, it’s sad to hate.” Her comic genius would only be appreciated later, once my toe stopped throbbing. “It’s sad to hate” has now made it into our repertoire of comedic but true phrases for life. While it may be funny to hate a trash can, it really is sad to hate, at least when talking about people. I guess that makes the following story, a sad one… (Note: Click on images to enlarge)