Lost in Ambition

Not too long ago my ambitions were so hot and all-consuming that I lost sight of what was going on around me. I wished for so many things. I wanted to champion so many causes. My desires seemed well-intentioned and innocent. However I lost sight of my reasoning behind everything. The thing that had set me on my path and what had lit the fire of my ambition. I remember a smaller happier me. A more naive trusting me. A young lady that just wanted to write and paint when she got older. Older for me then was 40 or 45. By then I wanted to have saved up enough to live and do what I wanted. Funny enough my vision didn’t include a husband and children. Just me quietly painting and writing my novels. It was such a simple wish. However to get there I was told I would need a lot of money. I was never good at making money just saving it. However no amount of saving was going to get me where my wish was… not at the rate I was going.

So I shed the me that had a simple wish and put on the armour of someone else. Maybe Joan of Arc wore a similar protection. Against all odds and a sexist society that told me to settle down and let a man do my work. In the years of battle that I strove forth with my ambition, clashing with many enemies who wore the guise of friendship and goodwill, I lost sight of why. Why I wanted to sit quietly and paint and write. The fighting and striving hardened me so much that my simple wish seemed too simple and drab. The harder, tougher me wanted domination, power, influence. I wanted a way to get respect for all my hard work and persistence. Instead of my simple wish I wanted respect and glory. Guising my new wish in altruistic goals of philanthropic ambitions. How could I, after all I’ve been through go to a quiet corner to paint and write. For what? I could do that when I was too old to do anything else. It wasn’t until the biggest betrayal I have ever had happen in my life brought all my ambitions crashing down that I woke up. I say “woke up” casually like it wasn’t painful. Imagine violent interrogation by water boarding… That kind of impact.

When my world became small again, and I with it, was I able to remember my simple wish again and why I’d wanted it in the first place. That me, before the armour, before the battles, and constant striving and struggling… That me that was happy with simple things. Rain used to make me dance. Fragrant herbal tea always warmed me up in a soft ball of happiness. I’d loved walks on sunny days where I could stroll and think of nothing but the beauty of God’s creation. I could stare at a tree for minutes on end, and hum away an hour or more. I tried to grab back the me that was. However rain reminded me of tears, herbal tea seemed too watered down… “Earl grey,” black, no sugar please. My walks were intruded by thoughts of what I’d lost and plans, plans, plans. No rest anywhere. My mind was constantly ticking, ticking, ticking, as if it were a clock counting the passing of time or a bomb… waiting… just waiting.

It took a long time for me to find peace again. It took doing all my simple things, not alone, but with God. He wiped away my tears and walked with me so I could enjoy Him again. I’d forgotten that my walks were with Him. My joy in the simple things were because nothing was really simple when He was involved. Painting and writing were my joys because I felt closer to Him when I did them. In pursuit for what would make me closer to Him I’d lost Him. I didn’t realize it until much too late. Wait… He let me know that as I live, late for him does not exist. I am always on time to find Him beside me. Where He always was… waiting so we could paint and write again.