I sat with my past a few evenings back in the semi-chill breeze that’s just beyond Summer

I’ve got to know him better, he had to know I was apologetic for being too young, for being too old, at all the wrong times and not seizing the moments offered by time walking past or my grandmothers wedding rings or the regeneration of faith or a greater lack of it.

Sometimes at night a city gives me more peace than a country does, you know Chicago has a certain way it rotates, rhythmic with flashing lights and alternating architecture, the contrast of old and new dispersed, compiled the complimentary dirt, vibrance and movement, that gives a magnetism you can’t build

But sometimes at night in Amish country I can clearer count my faults, in the simplicity, our lack of humility, apparent more without electric lights and other distraction, next to plain clothes people, we try to go twice as fast just to prove that we’re right and they’re wrong in our pride and shame

I wanted to ask, where did I start to fall, how often do we see in hindsight that we were always.standing on the edge asking to be told right and wrong? And do we look for the line just so we can cross it? How many times do we get lost between a Bible and honor, our neighbor, our Father and Mother

If my past knows me as well as I do, it knows better than me my need for God, and how in my weakness I will find wants to distract from needs, and always excess to fill my voids, the more I see myself the better the past clarifies my emptiness and the future shapes a hope and resolve to mend the present


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