My Guardian Angel Should Probably Be Fired

I am a sinner. And not the soft fuzzy kind that goes to small group to confess that they are struggling with patience, and won’t every one pray to God that He help them be nicer to their neighbor. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t discredit kindness. But a cold shoulder hardly gets into the deep and dirty of the human soul. And I am the dirty kind of sinner, the kind that makes all the hymn singing church goers wonder if I really am saved, because how could I do something like that with Christ’s blood flowing in my veins.  How could I fall so hard into the pavement if I have an angel guarding my every step of the way?

But I have fallen, and I am here, the figurative face of my soul planted firmly into asphalt (it’s all very bloody). And now I’m trying to get up (or push deeper into the darkness – it really depends on the time of day), and finally realizing I don’t even have the strength to breathe on my own.

These are to be the words that accompany my journey up, and out, or crashing back onto the pavement (I regret to say I have not given up my sinning ways). The words are for me, but in the spirit of social networking and cyber globalization, I blog. Anonymously of course – heaven forbid it should get out what I am (a sinner) – and with a projected readership of one, myself – because frankly, the blogosphere is already trashed with earnest writers showing off their soiled shirts and pants (and dare I say it, underwear), and I’ll be the first to say that no one really cares.

I will end with saying it begins, or in my case, continues – this painfully dark (yet not without joy) plotline I have pushed my life into.

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