by Cynthia Ruchti
The title could lead you to believe these are the rantings of a dissatisfied, disgruntled, worn out writer. Or parent. Or spouse. Or engineer, teacher, physician, car mechanic, tax expert, sculptor, gardener, baker…
That question scrolls across the screen of almost everyone’s mind, however frequently or infrequently. Sometimes in fine print. Sometimes, bolded and flashing with animation.
Does this have to be so hard? The amount of work seems disproportionate to the return on investment. The hours applied far outweigh the benefits. Progress inches along on the good days, retreats on the bad.
Even those who are passionate about what they do, called, devoted find themselves caught in a backwater of frustration, or a riptide that carries them so much farther out to sea than they intended to go. Paddling harder worsens the dilemma. Floating feels like resignation.
Whatever the arena–writing, feeding a family of picky eaters, biking uphill–we can draw immense comfort from the legacy of someone for whom life could have been so much easier than it turned out. His faithfulness should have resulted in smooth going. But he was hunted, pursued, cursed, driven from his land, ridiculed, battered…
That man–the David of the Bible–inspired writers like him to pen words like these from a pilgrimage song, possibly even penned by his son: