Another grey Monday morning in Northern Ireland. Another week of tighter coronavirus restrictions. Infection rates are falling again so they are working but the worry is, once they are lifted, we will return to rising figures and soon be back to square one again. It’s frustrating and disheartening. We await a vaccine with bated breath but, for now, life cannot be as we want it to be. It’s hard to remain hopeful and positive on mornings like this.
I switch on the news and hear that police broke up a number of house parties in Belfast over the weekend. Fines were issued for violations of pandemic restrictions. It’s hard to fathom the thinking of such people who appear to have so little compassion for their fellow man. I’m not allowed to watch my kids play the sports they love but you can cram into a house with your mates and drink yourself into a stupor because you simply…don’t…care.
Do I care enough though? And I’m not talking coronavirus here. Do I care enough about my loved ones or am I simply a hypocrite, ranting about the selfishness of others when, in reality, I’m no better than them. I look in the mirror and often don’t like what I see. Others disappoint me but am I focusing on them in order to avoid the stark, brutal truth – that I’m no better than them and, if anything, I’m worse for jumping on my soap box and preaching about it.
My most popular historic tweets continue to be about my struggles with my faith. My mistrust of other Christians and issues with the organised church. Again I’m criticising others and deflecting the spotlight from my own failings. I have an urge to read the Bible, to add more faith based books to my ‘to be read’ list. I worry about writing word counts, not exercising enough and on and on it goes. Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place and the problem is much closer to home.