The Fascist in the Mirror

One of the great benefits of blogging, for those who have an ounce of self-awareness, is that one can see one's own thought processes reflected back at you through the computer screen. This allows one to really see how shallow, arrogant, ungrammatical, or hypocritical one is. I like to play the game of reading my blog as that of a stranger, and thinking how ridiculous the things I say sound. Of course, as Narcissus looked into the pond, it is possible to see how wonderfully eloquent and thoughtful one is as well. Yet, being raised a Calvinist, it is hard to escape the thought that somehow, deep inside me, no matter how hard I try, whatever I'm going to do will be profoundly flawed.

Of course, I have heard from many that this perspective is crippling to the soul and verging on paranoid scrupulosity. I can see it play out in my own life over and over again. I make a mistake; I feel horrible about it; I stuff myself with food, alcohol, etc..., I feel worse about myself. This is the kind of stuff that Stuart Smalley would have called a "shame spiral."

I have just been diagnosed with full-blown diabetes. My first reaction is that I have somehow failed. However, I did try and avoid this. I stopped drinking all sugared sodas. I stopped eating candy. I indulged in desserts rarely. I almost completely gave up cookies. I stopped buying ice cream (mostly) from the store. I started riding my bike to work, and other sundry locations.

Anyways, I feel like God is saying to me, "for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me." It doesn't seem quite fair that although I am overweight, that folks who are 100 pounds heavier wouldn't get this kind of diagnosis for a good decade.

However, as much as I doth protest, the fact remains—whether or not an angry, spiteful God is pursuing me for my great-grandfather's love of chocolates—if I don't shape up, I will live a life of pain, frustration, and frequent hospital visits. And then I will die. The choice to me here is not between either saying, "Screw you, God," and eating candy until I pass into a diabetic coma or walking through the streets of C-ville in a hair shirt, whipping myself, and chanting, "miserere nobis, Domine." Of course, the only logical course of action, is to accept my history for the failures it includes, make reasonable, sustainable efforts for good health, and to accept God's mercy.

The second commandment continues...

for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand {generations} of those who love me and keep my commandments.

The Fall, or I'm a Pompous Child of God

As August quickly ripens

reams of paper,

bins of mechanical pencils,

and piles of neon-tinted notbeooks

appear in stores,

I realize that the inevitable will happen.

The world will softly march through the kingdom of death.

The sun will be born in late December,

but only a reminder of the rebirth to come.

Then, with the bleeding, sacred heart extended earnestly
from the land of Huitzilopotchli,

the carnations will bloom,
the mulberrys will slowly turn scarlet,

and Grace

will chase our guilt around the world once more,
as it passes us each year, seeking to cleave East and West.

The rosary,
Old Hundreth,
the sweet smell of incense,

will remind us that the spinning of the earth,
is only the most profound illusion.

Anyways, I need to remember that as I step into a role of "authority," that I am still nothing but a child of God. It is too easy to believe myself to be "good" or "wise," but equally so to believe myself a complete and utter failure. Accepting the perfect imperfection of my being and living as a child of God, is the greatest challenge I face.