I often wonder why it seems I always choose the harder route.
I know one of my chief flaws is pride, but is it always pride that drives me to pick the most difficult way to do something?
Why, in a room full of kind faces, do I seek the approval of the one person who does NOT want to be my friend?
Why do I beat myself up trying to tame a garden full of stones, heavy clay, cat poop, viscous weeds, slugs and snails, sporadic sunshine and a digging dog?
Why must I try new recipes that more often than not fail… when I have volumes full of recipes that work?
Why do I spend much too long on a hairdo that resembles a bird’s nest when the ponytail I began with was perfectly fine? When I’m going to work (late for work) and no one even cares what my hair looks like?
Why am I too shy to ask for help from neighbors, friends, relatives?
There have been many occasions in my life when people (usually Bonnie ) ask me a similar series of “whys.” So why must I make it so hard?
I don’t know. But I see it, I feel it, I shake my head at it… but like the tiny scab you know not to pick, I keep doing it.
I wonder what God thinks when He sees me spinning in my self-inflicted maze.