Confession: I tend to see life in black and white, a fact I have always been aware of yet not particularly proud of in myself. Furthermore, that tendency comes paired with a strong sense of right and wrong, and a desire to see appropriate consequences for one's actions.
I guess I'm Type A. As in ALWAYS.
While I know I am not perfect, I would be the first one to acknowledge my own wrongdoings and accept appropriate punishment for them. As a child, I handled discipline understandingly (at least I think I did! Right, Mom?). As an adult, I've tried to follow laws, morals, and—whenever possible—my loved ones' wishes. If I fail? I'm willing to face the consequences.
Indeed, even if others were willing to forgive and forget, I would demand my own set of consequences.
Of course, everyone knows that life isn't really like that. Bad things can happen to good people who do nearly everything right. Others wreak havoc around them, wallow in terrible decisions, and yet they seem to manage just fine. Some people simply accept the adage that “Life isn't fair,” and while I know this sentiment to be true, I admit to struggling with understanding why it must be so.
Case in point: the Casey Anthony verdict. Yesterday, after hearing that she had been found not guilty on nearly all charges, I was livid. Why? I don't know this woman, nor did I follow her case particularly closely. Unfortunately, there are thousands of other cases just like hers that occur across our country, and I've never bothered myself about those. Plus, from an evidential perspective, there simply wasn't enough solid proof of her guilt.
Still, this one bothered me. While I might've caught some coverage in high definition color TV, I only saw black and white. Was she a murderer? That may never be known for certain. Was she guilty of poor judgment as a mother? There was no doubt. At the very least, I expected her to be charged with child neglect.
And yet. Why did I care so much?
As a mother, it sickened me. As an American citizen, it frustrated me. As an average person, though, why did I bother?
Then, I stumbled upon this blog post by Ashley Sisk, and suddenly my emotional response made sense. There are Judah's, as she explains, in all walks of life, and while it can be so easy to judge them, that is not our purpose nor our right. This, perhaps more than anything, is an aspect of life that I struggle with myself.
If I follow the laws and strive to do good, why can't everyone else?
Because they can't. Because not everyone has it as easy as me. Because then life would be black and white, and we would miss out on all those interesting colors in between.
*Sigh*
If anything, I am trying to embrace this experience as an opportunity for growth. Yes, I am frustrated, and I feel like a little girl lost out on justice, but that is beyond my control. Instead, I need to focus on things—people, experiences, moments—on which I can make a difference. If I can become a better person, then I can help others to do so as well. And then I won't feel quite so helpless when I'm faced with equally frustrating information on the news front (as I did years ago with a similar headlining case).
Ashley, thank you for reminding me that we all need to be “washed by grace,” no matter the circumstances.
I guess I'm Type A. As in ALWAYS.
While I know I am not perfect, I would be the first one to acknowledge my own wrongdoings and accept appropriate punishment for them. As a child, I handled discipline understandingly (at least I think I did! Right, Mom?). As an adult, I've tried to follow laws, morals, and—whenever possible—my loved ones' wishes. If I fail? I'm willing to face the consequences.
Indeed, even if others were willing to forgive and forget, I would demand my own set of consequences.
Of course, everyone knows that life isn't really like that. Bad things can happen to good people who do nearly everything right. Others wreak havoc around them, wallow in terrible decisions, and yet they seem to manage just fine. Some people simply accept the adage that “Life isn't fair,” and while I know this sentiment to be true, I admit to struggling with understanding why it must be so.
Case in point: the Casey Anthony verdict. Yesterday, after hearing that she had been found not guilty on nearly all charges, I was livid. Why? I don't know this woman, nor did I follow her case particularly closely. Unfortunately, there are thousands of other cases just like hers that occur across our country, and I've never bothered myself about those. Plus, from an evidential perspective, there simply wasn't enough solid proof of her guilt.
Still, this one bothered me. While I might've caught some coverage in high definition color TV, I only saw black and white. Was she a murderer? That may never be known for certain. Was she guilty of poor judgment as a mother? There was no doubt. At the very least, I expected her to be charged with child neglect.
And yet. Why did I care so much?
As a mother, it sickened me. As an American citizen, it frustrated me. As an average person, though, why did I bother?
Then, I stumbled upon this blog post by Ashley Sisk, and suddenly my emotional response made sense. There are Judah's, as she explains, in all walks of life, and while it can be so easy to judge them, that is not our purpose nor our right. This, perhaps more than anything, is an aspect of life that I struggle with myself.
If I follow the laws and strive to do good, why can't everyone else?
Because they can't. Because not everyone has it as easy as me. Because then life would be black and white, and we would miss out on all those interesting colors in between.
*Sigh*
If anything, I am trying to embrace this experience as an opportunity for growth. Yes, I am frustrated, and I feel like a little girl lost out on justice, but that is beyond my control. Instead, I need to focus on things—people, experiences, moments—on which I can make a difference. If I can become a better person, then I can help others to do so as well. And then I won't feel quite so helpless when I'm faced with equally frustrating information on the news front (as I did years ago with a similar headlining case).
Ashley, thank you for reminding me that we all need to be “washed by grace,” no matter the circumstances.
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