It’s a Wednesday and its one of those days when I despair for the human race. God’s goodness seems yet subject to the whims of the powerful and the pseudo-ethics of an organisation whose sole purpose is self-preservation.
I’m not a good soldier today. I’m a grunt in a foxhole in the middle of winter in the Ardennes. It’s the Battle of the Bulge and I only have a small view of the fight and it looks lost. No air support, faced by constant German artillery bombardment, this is my posture on this Wednesday afternoon. I keep reminding myself that going on emotion is regressive. But I don’t feel stoic and think of Leonato’s line from Much Ado about Nothing, “there was never yet a philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently.” (Act 5 Scene 1)
A line comes to me from the Psalms, “I lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.” I wonder whether the hardy people of Scotland are closer to the LORD for their proximity to the highlands. I’m fairly bad at handing disappointment, but who else could I look to except Him?