Friday, October 01, 2004
Sisyphied
There are some areas in my life where I feel a lot like Sisyphus, perpetually rolling my rock uphill, only to see it consistently roll down again. While I've gotten angry about this situation, in its various guises, I had essentially resigned myself to the idea that it was the way of things. I would obviously like to be in a different situation, but I can accept that God wants to see how I act under adversity rather than what I do once I get rewards. Sometimes, the things we want simply aren't meant for us. Having accepted that the situation will remain the same, I was able (warning, I'm going to beat this metaphor into a bloody pulp) to learn from experience, so that every time I pushed my boulder, I knew more about the rock itself and the hill on which I labored, so that when I inevitably had to start again, it was easier because I knew where the best traction and danger points were.
The problem is that I was recently pushing my boulder when I was startled to realize that I'd made it further up the hill than ever before, and yet the rock had yet to tumble. A famous author (I can't remember which, though I'd love to find out) once said that he was fascinated by Sisyphus, especially the point right after the rock had rolled back down but before the man himself had decided to turn around and trudge back. Almost as interesting is the situation in which I now stand. Part of me wants to just let the rock go back down. If it is destined to go down anyway, it'll be far less frustrating for it to do so now, rather than once I've gotten my hopes up. I don't really know the lay of the land, and the chances of a catastrophic misstep are high. However, the rest of me is screaming out to keep going. I know that a single false move could be disastrous, and so it is absolutely vitally important to take my time. If God wants the boulder moved, He'll allow me to move it.
There are some areas in my life where I feel a lot like Sisyphus, perpetually rolling my rock uphill, only to see it consistently roll down again. While I've gotten angry about this situation, in its various guises, I had essentially resigned myself to the idea that it was the way of things. I would obviously like to be in a different situation, but I can accept that God wants to see how I act under adversity rather than what I do once I get rewards. Sometimes, the things we want simply aren't meant for us. Having accepted that the situation will remain the same, I was able (warning, I'm going to beat this metaphor into a bloody pulp) to learn from experience, so that every time I pushed my boulder, I knew more about the rock itself and the hill on which I labored, so that when I inevitably had to start again, it was easier because I knew where the best traction and danger points were.
The problem is that I was recently pushing my boulder when I was startled to realize that I'd made it further up the hill than ever before, and yet the rock had yet to tumble. A famous author (I can't remember which, though I'd love to find out) once said that he was fascinated by Sisyphus, especially the point right after the rock had rolled back down but before the man himself had decided to turn around and trudge back. Almost as interesting is the situation in which I now stand. Part of me wants to just let the rock go back down. If it is destined to go down anyway, it'll be far less frustrating for it to do so now, rather than once I've gotten my hopes up. I don't really know the lay of the land, and the chances of a catastrophic misstep are high. However, the rest of me is screaming out to keep going. I know that a single false move could be disastrous, and so it is absolutely vitally important to take my time. If God wants the boulder moved, He'll allow me to move it.
