When I think about obedience to commands. I suppose that betrays my gut assumption about what sort of person gives commands: Someone difficult to please, who is just setting up hoops to jump through, who is carefully screening my every move for every misstep that warrants correcting.
I fear failing. And there is no joy in fear. It’s rather miserable, honestly. And no teeth-gritting obedience will force the joy to bubble up to the surface. As long as the fear is there, it will stay bottled up.
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