The thing about being so gosh darned human is that every time I think of doing something nice for someone, I soon find myself imagining how nice other people will think I am once they hear what I've done. It sickens me to think how completely incapable I am of genuine kindness, let alone sincere love.
I'm sure some of you are now thinking, "don't be so hard on yourself," but please don't leave me comments saying such nonsense. That's not the point I'm trying to make. This is not self loathing. Rather, it's the simple meditation of an immutable fact.
I know I've heard this described before, a little more eloquently I might add, by some great writer I cannot currently recall. The line I remember goes something like this; The moment we have a pure motive, we are bound to destroy it (with pride) by the very realization that it's pure.
The benefit, for me, of such ruminations is a reminder of my very desperate need for grace; coupled with a very palpable hope that a true and perfect love just might exist. And if such Love resides, by comparison I see, it is thankfully, incredibly, beyond my understanding.