The other day, for a very small, weird moment, I realized I was merely 'existing'. Just going through the motions of life, on cruise as it were, and not really bothering myself about anything else.
I'm living on an island right now, for goodness sake. You'd think I'd be a little more enthusiastic. But here I was (or there I was, rather) wallowing in mediocrity.
Revelation 3:16. "Since you are lukewarm and neither hot or cold, I am going to spit you out of My mouth."
What exactly is so despicable about mediocrity? It's not exactly sinning, it's not blatant disobedience or shameful blasphemy. Is it the glazed-over mask with which one regards everything? Is it the lack of emotion, passion, fervor, and interest... the very sparks that set us apart from bird and beast? Just existing: it's so easy, and so dreadfully wrong. Like purposely refusing to see colors, denying the existence of music, walking through a crowd of crying people and not recognizing a single tear.
It's not what mediocrity is, it's what mediocrity isn't. And this is what I see so much in my own life; a lack of things that should be there. Tears unshed, smiles buried, passion smoldering under a thick layer of carelessness, weakening for want of fuel.
To be passionate is a choice; you wake up even though you want to sleep, you sing though you'd rather be silent, you allow your heart to ache though you know how much it will hurt.
I seek again the passion that has slipped through my fingers. I want to do everything whole-heartedly, to run an extra mile to catch a falling star if I must. Perhaps just existing is sufficient, but it is never enough.