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Personal Narrative: I Grateful Like Inman In Cold Mountain

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Each night, there is a point where the day falls to silence, a silence that encloses you in your own thoughts and reflections. For as long as I can remember, my dad always told me "that is when you pray." His words matched the ones of every Sunday school teacher, but their voices faded as my worries grew. It seemed there were some stresses a man on a cross could not eliminate. Bible stories where Jesus cures people from their pain and problems appeared no different from the storybooks I stopped reading years ago, unrealistic and improbable. I vacillated between the faith instilled in me and the plausibility of things occurring by chance, not by Christ. As each day came to a close, I struggled to thank a voiceless God for a day I wasn’t grateful …show more content…

We spend lifetimes attempting to forget the foul parts of life, and I failed to understand a God who deserved unconditional love controlling a world with so much hate. Randomness could account for the periods of good and bad with practicality and without a spiritual dependence. However, without following a spiritual figure, I surrendered my complete self-worth to societal standards. Countless warnings against comparison with others drifted away from me; Compromising confidence seemed better than blindly believing. I still sat through church every Sunday, and I found myself like Edna Pontellier, with an “outward existence which conforms, an inward life which questions” (Chopin 20). My private deviation and questioning separated me from the values my parents had emphasized so heavily for so long. Seymour Krim discusses these kinds of private situations; he claims the privacy of them makes us “ache with hopelessness” (580). The societal standards I held myself to presented this loss of hope, and the ache bogged me down with unhappiness, contrasting it with the hope a belief in a greater power brought

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