This morning, while sharing things in the group devotion at our Church, I started crying. Trying to contain my tears that seemingly useless for it plunges like free falling debris from a tall, unfinished building somewhere in Ayala, I also tried talking. My father’s standing beside me while I attempted to balance the situation by making them laugh while I cry (confusing, I know). But why did I cry?
I was talking about how discouraged Peter is in Luke 5 and John 21. Then, when my voice broke after saying that Peter felt he failed for being a disciple. I shared that story not to impress or whatever. I shared it because it has a special place in me.
These past few days, I’ve been facing my own fishing and caught no fish. In short, I’ve been discouraged—in my cell members, though other people, to myself. Like Peter, I always have my point of bitter weeping for I always feel like I failed as a leader and as disciple. And that’s why I cried. I see myself in his position, I see myself so discouraged that I don’t want to try again.
But I always did. Like I said before, giving up would be a foolish thing. But every time I try stepping, going forward, discouragements come rushing three folds, four folds. And it hurts to know that even it’s not your fault, as a leader, you’ll always be blamed for it.
I cried because I want to stop fighting. I cried because I can’t. I cried because of so many discouraging things I experience. I cried because I can’t take hold of everything. I cried because I’m tired. I cried because inside me, I’m asking God to help.