Wrestling With God

I caught a glimpse of the depth of darkness in my soul the other night, and I was ashamed. I had come home after a conversation with a friend, lying in bed wanting to just fall asleep; yet that was unattainable. It wasn't just too much caffeine in my system, or the fact that I wasn't really tired...the Holy Spirit had some work He wanted to do, and I guess He figured He pretty much had my attention then.
Earlier my friend and I had this conversation regarding some inevitable events that were about to take place. I've been trying to avoid thinking about the whole situation, but as we all know, avoiding something doesn't make it go away.
As I laid there, I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to pray about the situation, which I really haven't done much of. I didn't feel like it, yet I conceded and began to pray. (Pray, of course, for what I wanted to have happen.) It wasn't long before, once again, the Holy Spirit went to work. He was challenging me to actually pray that this person would experience the love of God, resulting in desiring to return that love. And I didn't want to pray that.
So I started "wrestling" with God. I ranted, I raved, I pleaded my case, I cried, and yet, in the end, I was the one who came out limping, yet better (I hope) for it.
I realized that I didn't want to pray for this person to actually experience the life-changing love of God because I didn't think he deserves to be forgiven. He's done too much, for too long, that is too damaging; he doesn't deserve for the slate to be wiped clean.
As the truth of my motives smacked me in the face, I was ashamed to realize that not only do I look at myself as "better" than some people, but I look at myself as more deserving of the love of God.
Inadvertently, I had placed a limit on how far God's love could reach.
I wish I could say my wrestling is over, but it's not. I still wince at the thought of praying for this person...even if it's a 1 sentence choked out prayer: "God, change him...and change me."

A Walk on the "Other Side"

I love my job. (Okay, I'll admit, my sentiment at the end of every day is not always this, but deep down inside it's true.) I love the energy that enters the building as the kids trickle in from school and want to tell us about their day. I love seeing them run around the playground with abandon and huge smiles on their faces. I love the questions they ask, the stories they tell, and the hugs they give. But even more than that, I love the look that a kid gets on their face when they really "get" something, and you make a huge deal of it, telling them they're the smartest thing in the whole wide world. And, even if it's for just a moment, they believe you. I love the dreams that are born and cultivated here, the futures that are opened up to possibility, and the character that is being built. Some days are really hard, and I find myself unable to see through the difficulty of it all to the beauty waiting on the other side. Yet today I experienced one of those "other side" days, and I walked away feeling blessed to be a part of it all.