Eremitic

"How can I be expected to have a positive attitude when so many things around me are wrong/uncomfortable/disappointing/frustrating?"
That perspective is one of the major faults of Christianity today. If Paul could sing praises from prison, after being beaten... If he could call his tribulations a light thing - tribulations like being stoned, being shipwrecked, being adrift at sea - tribulations like having his own brethren (religiously and nationally) turn against him... If he could, knowing his trial before Caesar would likely result in his death, think himself happy to answer for himself... If he could be content, and "have all things and abound" despite his troublesome life, you'd think we could quit making so much of the details of our lives that aren't to our liking.

The answer isn't to pack it all in and quit complaining; no, the answer is to change our perspective to one that fits the scripture. Can't do that? Then your life will indeed be miserable from here to Heaven, and all because you refused to be content with what God dealt you.

...past the bar and the card tables, to the back where those who wished to avoid the rowdiness would sit and dine. There, at a table near the fireplace, sat the lady. She wore a light blue travel dress and had finished her meal. She sat reading a book and sipping coffee.

Neither of them was surprised at this chance meeting. But the pleasure they felt at this opportunity was very refreshing.

A bright smile flashed on her face. "Tarn," she said without looking up, "I knew you'd find me here."
"Yes, dear Nala, as did I," he replied with a short chuckle.
She put down her book and they spoke briefly, catching up on their lives, when she interrupted him, "Dearest, are you going to sit down?"
He felt clumsy for not even having enough of his wits about him to sit down. As he sat he ordered a coffee. They spoke more, rich and hearty conversation, each filling the other with tales. At a break in their fellowship, he sat pensively and after a while looked deep into her blue eyes.
"I've missed you something awful, Nala. I cannot describe how badly."
"I've missed you too. It isn't easy never knowing when I'll be able to speak to you. I know we'll always find each other again, but that certainly never makes it easy, Tarn."
"Indeed, my dear lady. And lately, I've been having those intense dreams, or sometimes I won't even be asleep and I'll feel you searching, probing for me. And I find myself reaching out for you, too. Sometimes my yearning is almost overwhelming. But I press on, as I know you do, waiting for times like these."
"Too," he continued, "I thought perhaps with all the ruckus down your way the last few months, you might've thought it best not to venture out much, so I wasn't too worried. But as you well know, that never calms the yearning."
He smiled and reached for her hand. They sat in quiet conversation over a couple more slow cups of coffee.

She looked him over, seeing time had worn him more, but hadn't depleted his resolve. And he could see the cares and times of life had tried to be unkind to her, but her fortitude was not to be bested by circumstance. He took in her beauty.
"When I look at you, your hair, your eyes...when I hear your voice, all that time, all that distance just melts away. You're looking right well, my friend."

...

"No, Mal," Tarn said, "I've been having them more and more. And the dreams are more intense lately. These emotional encounters, meetings with her, wretching yet somehow fulfilling. I know she's reaching out to me, Mal, yet how do I find her? How do I close this distance so the pain will subside, at least for a bit? Before when we'd meet in passing, it was helpful, a balm to sustain us for a bit. Never completely healing, which we accepted, but preventing the pain from overwhelming us."
Mal sighed, patting Tarn on his back. "Sorry, Tarn. But look - this can't go on forever. You'll meet up with her again, I have no doubt of it. It always works that way with you two, ya know."

As with any journal writing, especially content like this that's pretty much raw & unfiltered, a lot of times it might seem gratuitous, self-serving, or even contrived. Such is the nature of initial thoughts, spur of the moment ramblings, and draft writing in general. A journal is a playground for thoughts, where they work their way out and get exercise.

In other ways a journal could be likened to a workshop where we are not afraid to (yea, we are compelled to) bring out raw work and then refine it. Though we may be embarrased to let the world see the raw work, there are a few we let into our workshop to see the "scraps" and the unfinished projects, the things we tried so we could learn to make better things. If you have a key to this shop (i.e. a login), rest assured that, though some of these things are quite personal and though I might feel a bit squeemish knowing you read them, I gave you that key willingly.