O sapientia

December 17:

Sometimes I feel like being Christian means that God needs me to perform well. To be kind. To be pretty. To never screw up (I screw up a lot. A lot.) To never feel a negative emotion. To have no needs for anything, to make no demands. To be, essentially, a high-functioning robot. Or an angel?

But God himself feels anger, jealousy, pain.
Feels the gnawing edge of lack?

Wisdom, we pray for, wisdom. In her is a
clear, unstained, certain,
Not baneful, loving the good, keen,
unhampered, beneficent, kindly,
Firm, secure, tranquil

In her. Not in me. She comes, not because I have failed to become these things on my own, but because I cannot become all these without her.

Wisdom is not self-contained.
Perhaps the lack is grace.

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