“Misfortunes one can endure–they come from outside, they are accidents. But to suffer for one’s own faults–ah!–there is the sting of life.”
Self contempt comes, and not rarely. I’m practiced at this art. A particular expression from the past, and thankfully it faded out of popularity: “Don’t go there … “
When self contempt comes, I still tell myself, “Don’t go there …”. I still ask a question: “Why do I go there?” There has to be more to this than some quirky idiosyncrasy that a few guys do, that most guys don’t. In fact, I know this is not something I just wonder about. This is something I know about. I read some words from a guy by the name of Paul (quite a while back). My mind and heart connected with his thoughts immediately.
“O wretched man that I am!
Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?“
All of this is huge, immense. So much to be said, but less said – – – the better. If God is love, and He is, then running to self-contempt doesn’t line up. Not only that, self-contempt doesn’t work … depending … on what it is we want to do. If we want to hide our glory, self contempt can work. If want to manipulate others by using our self pity, self contempt can work. If we want to take ourselves off the hot seat of standing in the gap, fighting the battles, persisting in prayer, then … yes … self contempt can work. But for me, self contempt doesn’t work. It torments me when I let it get in. I can relate to Paul. I can almost see him gritting his teeth, enraged at himself, wishing he could die. The fist: clenched and crashing the floor. And like this post, the storm of self contempt comes to an abrupt end, as the first verse of the next chapter speaks freedom so calmly, so eloquently, so truthfully: