Seeking Imperfection

You know what I hate/need/want to throw at a passing bus? Books that convict me. Books that speak truth that I really, REALLY don't want to hear. I can only get through a chapter or two before I end up slamming it shut and sliding it across the floor or table or wherever it is I happen to be sitting. I look at it, lying there, mocking me, black cover slightly ajar, seeming to talk to me despite the fact that I can no longer see type. So you're saying I have to actually do something? That I can't just sit around and wait for things to fall in my lap? You're saying that I'm never going to be completely satisfied and the minute I stop expecting every little thing that happens to me to be life changing and wonderful that I'll probably be a lot happier? Freakin'.... AHHHH. I've had this misguided outlook my entire life, not to say that it hasn't served me at certain points in the past. My best friend just so conveniently reminded me that I've lived a life anyone could be jealous of and that I haven't wasted a moment. It's only now that I appear to be digging my own rut with my own shovel and settling down to walk in it on a daily basis. Life isn't perfect. It never will be. I'm never going to find the perfect place to be or the perfect country or the perfect guy or the perfect job. These things don't exist. Chances are good that even if these things did exist, they would bore me to tears with their very perfection.

I'm being challenged these days, challenged more than I would prefer. I'm reading about being a tree in a story about a forest and having numerous conversations about the difficulties of relationships and visiting chapters in the Bible that are all about one man's intense bout of suffering. He quite literally wrote the book on it. In placing these things in front of me, God is messing about with my status quo. Did I sign up for this? Wait, I believe that I did...