Is it Safe to Admit..

That I am a sinner? I have viewed such a thing as a given to all, and certainly it is. I always supposed that to casually admit flaws meant that one had accepted their sin and desired to leave it be.

Perhaps I am wrong, though. Maybe some deep appreciation that I AM A SINNER need be made for me to advance. I have been all things in my seasons: lair, cheater, sloth, miserly, etc. I fear I shall return to them (as a dog returns to its vomit, nonetheless) in time; I fear I may not have been affected by the Gospel as is fitting for someone who professes Christianity.

My outside is clean, relatively-speaking, but all who know me better see the darkness I harbor. Those who know me not think me simple and a sort of pure that is open to corruption... I am soft-spoken, quiet, reserved... But the deeper parts of me have welled up within and have had little release. My deepest good and evil alike are hidden. I am not as openly hatred or judgmental as I might be, but I am a far, far shot from the understanding, caring, long-suffering person I desire to be.

I simply don't like opening, so when I do, it is with backlash. Tonight, I had an enjoyable conversation; tonight, I feel like a fool for speaking at all. Did I say anything too uncouth? No. Did I say anything reproachable? Nay. Do I feel like a fool? Yes.

I am a sinner. Worst of all I know, in fact. Something has to change, for my life falls outside of all expectations held to it by any creed. I do not sleep at night feeling I did all I could or loved like I should have.. Is that what God's grace is for? Or have I still fallen grossly short of even His grace?

Whatever you were, you are not.

In that fact I rejoice.

For each realization that hits me brings less and less of a sting and more and more of that subtle acceptance which I so wished I would never have to face... I never wanted to fall to the depths of despair and be helped up and out only by myself, God, and the occasional merciful act of a stranger or acquaintance... I wanted to fall and be picked up; I wanted my distrust of life to be transformed into a wonderful adoration of the human ability to connect to each other and remain loyal, despite all circumstances. I wanted the bitter tears I cried, waiting, to be recognized, respected, and ultimately conducive to the reinstitution of a thing un-began.

Instead, I was made to gradually learn that not all that glitters is gold- even if it once resounded in your heart as a truth that could never be adulterated or broken. I was made to realize that life, like death, is something that will always be experienced alone- though, of course, you may have your moments of higher connection and need never be devoid (nor should be devoid) of human interaction. I have learned that I can brighten someone's day, but not always their life... I can feel something with all my intensity and not budge someone else's will. This I have realized in the nearly three years since the era I experienced of mental isolation and bitterness at life came to an epoch when I saw the first blonde boy who I ever had liked.

The old meanings to my life are slipping... Nay, they have slipped away. Where once there was a yearning for an impossible abstraction, there is now a desire to explore and make better that which is more tangible. No longer can I with easy conscience call up an infinitely trusted friend; I must delegate all things (those day-to-day, or even once in a blue moon, occurrences that bring sorrow, shame, or anger) to their proper place in the scheme of life: oblivion. I do not despise God, nor His ways, though I do, at times, wonder at them. I do not despise those who have "wronged me," for they haven't, if only because I no longer wish to hold them to any of it. ( Besides, I have surely done twofold worse to them). Such is life..... Not "not worth living," but neither is it the dream I always wished it might one day be. It's still worth it. I just hope heaven is a lot more suitable to my tastes, if and when I may ever get there.

Misjudgement

I cannot remember the exact wording, but I remember the message of it all. My school's newspaper had a special for the month: a Post Secret-like center spread where cryptic messages were to be displayed in an artful way. Most of them were rather silly- the one I included was. But there was one that hit me, if only because I could immediately guess who it was. It expressed a wish that the writer, who was in a wheelchair, would be treated and seen as normal despite it.

There's a girl with some health problems I cannot even begin to guess at who attends my school. As far as I can tell, they are not fatal or dangerous, or at least not immediately so, but they have left her with some sort of speech impediment and in a wheelchair. It would be easy to mistake her for someone of a lesser level of cognitive function.

But she's not. If you pay attention, she is able to do anything a "normal" person could do, think whatever a "normal" person could think and understand. Yet through my own misconceptions I can surmise that she is surely misjudged and treated in the easy, intellectually-devoid way that those with impaired intelligence require. How it must sting; how it must demean!... My shame is easily all the school's shame.

When I see her in the halls, I make an effort to smile her way, just in case she needs it.