Or are they?

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Or are they?

Now I feel as if researching validity and worth is a quality and necessary endeavor. Yet I’d rather just come up with an answer: Yes, they are. No, they aren’t. Alas, they could be under different circumstances. Like if I were the woman at the well or Nicodemus, experiencing a private tête-à-tête with Jesus coz then my frustrations would be fully known to the one who can actually do something about them—as if worth is based on the ability to conquer, fix, etc.
Tension. I can’t be fixed. Well, I believe God doesn’t want to. So what do I do with my frustrations? I conclude that they bear no discussion, at least not too much. I shouldn’t make them into my shtick, my “past routine” that emerges with each new speaking engagement like the tale your grandfather always tells simply because it’s his favorite, not because you need to know it.

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