The Worst Of Sins (Tell His Story)

I promised to be honest, and sometimes it's not fun.

This is one of those times.

A couple of days ago I acted a right bastard towards Barb. I can't even remember why (except that it was a pride thing), and would be tempted to blame it on extreme pain, fear, and the generally awful feeling of where the cancer journey is today, but that would be dishonest.

I had the choice to say, or not say, something cruel, and the choice to persist.

Barb has forgiven me, but I have to forgive myself... otherwise I'm rejecting her forgiveness.

And that's wrong, and that's prideful. Which is where the whole thing started.

But the hardest thing is yet to come...joining the dance again, without either putting lipstick on the pig of my actions, or staring at the ground in a kind of self-indulgent guilt that is really a passive-aggressive demand for pity (oh, poor me, the pain made me do it!).

It's time to be a man, admit my misdeeds, and do my best to contribute to the common good.

And the common happiness.

 Sometimes it's all going well

and you are on a roll,

and then it just goes all to hell 

and failure takes its toll.

Sometimes you live in God's bright graces

with kindness as your guide,

and then a harsh cold word erases

all with foolish pride,

and you're left with a ruined heart,

distanced from the Lord

and those who had taken your part

now seem to turn, your sins abhorred,

but this too is your prideful state,

indulgence in squalid self-hate.

Sylvia doesn't have a problem with self-loathing, even when she chews up a book.

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