Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned.

I have been selfish. I have watched my idols, so lovingly crafted, topple, splinter their brittle glass bones upon the floor, shards that brought my skin to bleeding. I have wept for them. I have cradled their lifeless faces in my arms, faces I formed by my own hand, their eyes empty, like me. I have been angry as they crumbled back to dust, for deep in the corners of my unacknowledged subconscious, I believed they were strong enough to save me.

I have watered the mud-hole of my self-pity, drowned all seeds of life in the sorrow I claimed as my right. I have coveted the blessings of others while neglecting my own. I have thrown temper tantrums. I have whined and complained and stomped my feet. I have ridden the winds of my emotions and used my pain to excuse it.

I wanted a part to play that was beautiful and grand. I wanted to travel overseas and offer bowls of rice to orphans, or move across the country and settle deep into the heart of a great revival. But I did not want it for His glory; I wanted it for mine. Not for love, but to assuage the guilt of my blackened heart. And being given no clear and magnificent purpose, I have doubted that I was made for any use at all, and buried my talents in the dirt.

These are my confessions, and they are only a few. I do not fear them, anymore. They may war against me, but they do not define me. No failure of mine can overshadow my identity, the new name given to me on the day God looked down and called me daughter. But I do ask forgiveness, for I have sinned. And this is the place where I drop the tattered remains of who I used to be, into the abyss that stretches ever on, far away from me.