I can’t write with empty mind the thoughts you steal with joy and hope. I find the best is gone when you leave and the same is true when you return. This is happy and go lucky went to bed a long time ago. What are we doing if not acting like fools to claim the innocence before our betrayals? Your love is wasted on the things defined by subtle hints of preferring this over that. Come to the truth and let it feast on the fatness of your pride. Eat away the lies and the bitterness, and kill the devilish force of self that robs pose of all its beauty. Weak is new and it needs expression in simplicity; the vulnerable are not much for the show. The lights blind and break the puffed up into pathetic pieces. Forgiveness isn’t offered to the perfect but to those willing to accept their need for it. Your mistakes aren’t so important as to defeat grace with all their complexities. Some choose to relinquish control, while others wallow in pity, because of this: You can never rightly deserve anything. If I can convince myself that my failures are too great for the forgiver to forgive then I can convince myself that maybe I, too, am great, and either way pride becomes the winner. Will the carousel of trying to usurp Creator ever end? This thing spins a thousand different ways, each one fighting the constant battle of placing self as supreme, only manifesting the counterfeit truth in different ways: Forgiveness, Future, Right and Wrong, Church Life, Education, Experience, Holiness, Sinners, Money, Happiness, Love, and on in to eternity.
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