What does one make of hope when we see how many attempts we’ve made to improve ourselves, only to remain essentially the same? The same tendencies, traits and habits we’d thought we’d beaten into submission re-emerge again, sometimes subtler, but essentially unchanged.
It is not that our lives don’t improve. Eventually, one learns not to give voice to every impulse–how to avoid situations that trigger our worst and to instead seek out people and circumstances that allow us to shine. But we cannot avoid the truth that the unique combination of qualities and characteristics—that essential essence that makes one a “me”—is so often merely being managed and corralled. It is either foolishness or heroism to believe that one’s personality can be changed.
And yet, I believe. Not that I will ever be able to significantly separate from the “me” that persists through time and space. But that I can get better at telling the truth about who I am—comprised as I am of both the shadow and light; that I can lovingly witness the interplay between impulse and control; and that I can come to trust God that while I may never be perfect, I was wonderfully made.
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