What is wrong with me?

I was reading the blogs that were posted after class on Tuesday, and I felt heartless. While sitting and watching the movie clips, I was moved to desperation and desolation, but as I walked away, the light of the sky and the warmth of the sun literally melted my sorrow away. To me, the films shown in class, while sad in their own right, opened my eyes to the presence of God’s awesomeness.

In Small Hands, I almost cried. As the puppets went about their tragic ends, I felt lost and alone. I had to close my eyes once during the film about the holocaust. I couldn’t read the subtitles, but it shut out the meaning of the film.

 I only wish ignoring the Georgia Lee song was that easy. The questions it asked about God and His love made me angry and sad. How many times do I ask those same questions?  Yet, even after that, I was fine as soon as the screen went dark. My thirst for answers was satisfied when I walked out of the classroom.

The films were powerful. No amount of doubt could make that untrue, but it begs the question: What is wrong with me?

Professor Leeper said that an author doesn’t tell a story, a story tells the author. So what does this blog or this story tell you about me? What is wrong with me?