a confession

The more I see of the world and the more I see of myself, the more I realize that I know absolutely nothing.

I pretend to understand the meaning of life and the path to enlightenment. I speak with conviction and walk as if on solid foundations. I have learned that life has its mode and its method, its timing and its plan.

But the truth is, I do not know the future and cannot understand the past. Even to what little I can testify to be good, I cannot be am not faithful. I willingly indulge in temporary escapes even while fully knowing the crushing weight of its consequences.

You put me on a pedestal as a leader, a guide, a source of answers and direction. But all I have is an old faded map and a compass that doesn't always point north. I am unworthy.

I feel the pressure from all sides, just as they do, maybe even more. Sometimes it seems better to just be pressed into the mold, to be conformed into a shape that was never intended, like so many others rolling off the assembly line. It doesn't feel right, but it is easier than being different. I am not worthy.

And along comes Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.