I constantly find myself at the end and thus obliged by social manners to refill.
I find myself standing in front of the company water cooler as the bottle reaches its end. Then I am socially obliged to lift a 25+ pound bottle of water and place it on the receptacle. I am certain that one day this will end in a disastrous situation where a coworker will find me flattened with said water bottle on top of my chest.
Growing up my last name began with a ?W? so I was always at the end. To further exasperate this last name was ?Wr.? The only one behind me: Fran Zillner.
This is not just a physical occurrence. I also find myself at the end of the line or the end of my proverbial rope on a frequent basis.
Come to think of it I live at the end of a culd-a-sac. Okay, enough already.
What is in this for me to learn? Why am I always at the end of things, situations, and supplies?
Perhaps the true lesson is this: I desperately need to get to the end of myself.
It?s a lot harder to replace all the Me than a new roll of toilet paper or a heavy water jug.
What does it mean to get to the end of oneself? To say the end to self. To say enough to self, to STOP with all the ME!
How in the world to do that is the question.
It?s always been about me. Only child, gregarious personality, driven. My unique design seems too perfectly positioned to feed the Me monster.
Graciously I have been given several heaping doses of humility, but still, the Me monster will not die once and for all.
I must rise daily and slay me. Oh, how I tire of killing me. Some days are easier and believe it or not, some days, ME resurrects!
The power, the persistence, the tenacity of Me is unbelievable. A constant battle, constant no, constant death to self.
I would be discouraged, but I am a radical optimist. I take heart, put to death self, start over and relish in the truth that His compassions never fail, and His mercies are new every morning.
I understand and accept that the Me monster is not going down without a fight. But guess what? God wins in the end!