A STREET CALLED EXISTENCE

Redemption. It is not something I can gain on my own. Not something that I can sit down and work towards like a nine-to-five job day in and day out and get paid in redemption every two weeks. In some ways I wish that could be true… I wish it could be as clear as that. Instead, it’s this incredibly powerless act of patience and hope, the act of recognizing that all of it is out of my control… and acknowledging that, accepting that… is increasingly complex as life goes on.

As life goes on, new wounds appear. Fresh cuts inflicted by ourselves more than others, but by others as well. We walk around bearing each others’ wounds, yet turning to one another to heal them and spreading death as we contaminate those we care about in the attempt to fix their brokenness with our own. The logic of that is just as broken as we are. We are not doctors. I cannot fix you, I’m bleeding just the same. Trust me, my heart wants to. But I cannot. And much as I want you to fix me, to bind up all the cuts and reset all the bones, you are not qualified. You are just as broken and we spread the brokenness when we hold to an expectation that everyone who cares about us is our doctor.

We go through this life wanting to help fix those around us, and the heart behind that isn’t wrong necessarily. In a lot of ways that desire is quite beautiful because it stems from compassion and empathy. But even the best intentions can make the biggest of messes in the end.

We are all on this street called Existence, and we are all the shattered semblance of humanity. Some only limp, others cannot even rise from their place in the gutter. When one reaches down to heal another, seeking their own redemption, they end up down too… weak from life’s plague. In their own power they cannot save another, and so they resent and they cry in anger and they forget that they are powerless. And thus goes the pattern of humanity.

I have followed this pattern for the greater part of my adult life. And through its’ faultiness I have broken and scarred some who I have cared about. But I am learning, every day. And instead, I will choose to sit down with the ones I love… hoping in someway that my presence will be warmth and light and laughter as they look to the only one that can truly heal. Not expecting them to choose the same, but doing so because that is my purpose. I’ve had it all wrong for so long. At least at twenty-seven I can start to try and get it right. And in that way, perhaps redemption will grace me with her presence on Existence for a time.

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