2008 Woodie Awards
Harbison: Embracing love beyond these pages
Bethany Harbison
Issue date: 4/17/08 Section: Opinion
By the time this paper reaches your hands, staining your fingertips charcoal gray, the eyes and pens of this staff have scanned these pages dozens of times. We have poured our time and hearts — and, in my case, tears — into creating and placing each page, each article, each picture as best we can.
Yet each week, in some way, we fall short of the mark. A misplaced line here, a typographical error there, something here, something there.
It's inevitable.
But just as inevitable, just as seemingly certain as it is that you will find a fumble within these pages, is the fact that before the sun slips into the horizon today, I will fall short in my own life, slipping into sin.
It's certain.
As humans, we are creatures wrought with imperfection.
Look at our lives. Listen to the words we throw at one another. See the wars we wage.
For coupled with our inherent intentions to be "good" lies something far more sinister — something borne deep inside our hearts before we escaped our mothers' wombs.
No matter how genuine or well-meaning our efforts, they will never be enough. On my own, I can never be enough. I can never be just right. I can never fulfill the expectations of the people around me.
And, far, far more importantly, I can never come near to fulfilling the bold, beautiful dreams dreamed for me by my God — no matter how hard I try.
But the news isn't all grim.
For all of us, there is hope on the horizon. For me, that hope is within my heart.
It is that hope, that promise of a life, a meaning beyond this flawed existence that keeps me going.
It is that hope that helps me turn the proverbial cheek, even when it pains me.
My hope, dear friends, is in something, someone far bigger than I. My hope is in a man who lived and died and rose again more than 2,000 years ago.
Does my hope ever falter? Yes, absolutely. But never because God fails me or doesn't listen or is unfair — no, the fault always lies with me.
Always.
Each day, I come up short. Each day, I sin, and each day, I disappoint the God who saved and loves me.
But because of the depth of His love, a love so strong that He could, that he would die the most painful of deaths to save me from myself, He forgives me for my shortcomings. He wipes them away.
After the presses churn out newspaper after newspaper, the damage is done. The errors are there, in black and white — or CMYK color — for all to see, dissect and mock.
So be it.
For me, what matters far more than the contents of these columned pages is being free from the imperfections and failures written upon my heart.
In a week, these pages will be discarded, tossed aside, forgotten.
Latch on to something that lasts.
Yet each week, in some way, we fall short of the mark. A misplaced line here, a typographical error there, something here, something there.
It's inevitable.
But just as inevitable, just as seemingly certain as it is that you will find a fumble within these pages, is the fact that before the sun slips into the horizon today, I will fall short in my own life, slipping into sin.
It's certain.
As humans, we are creatures wrought with imperfection.
Look at our lives. Listen to the words we throw at one another. See the wars we wage.
For coupled with our inherent intentions to be "good" lies something far more sinister — something borne deep inside our hearts before we escaped our mothers' wombs.
No matter how genuine or well-meaning our efforts, they will never be enough. On my own, I can never be enough. I can never be just right. I can never fulfill the expectations of the people around me.
And, far, far more importantly, I can never come near to fulfilling the bold, beautiful dreams dreamed for me by my God — no matter how hard I try.
But the news isn't all grim.
For all of us, there is hope on the horizon. For me, that hope is within my heart.
It is that hope, that promise of a life, a meaning beyond this flawed existence that keeps me going.
It is that hope that helps me turn the proverbial cheek, even when it pains me.
My hope, dear friends, is in something, someone far bigger than I. My hope is in a man who lived and died and rose again more than 2,000 years ago.
Does my hope ever falter? Yes, absolutely. But never because God fails me or doesn't listen or is unfair — no, the fault always lies with me.
Always.
Each day, I come up short. Each day, I sin, and each day, I disappoint the God who saved and loves me.
But because of the depth of His love, a love so strong that He could, that he would die the most painful of deaths to save me from myself, He forgives me for my shortcomings. He wipes them away.
After the presses churn out newspaper after newspaper, the damage is done. The errors are there, in black and white — or CMYK color — for all to see, dissect and mock.
So be it.
For me, what matters far more than the contents of these columned pages is being free from the imperfections and failures written upon my heart.
In a week, these pages will be discarded, tossed aside, forgotten.
Latch on to something that lasts.
Be the first to comment on this story