I don’t subscribe to that.
I find myself living to the contrary. Justice for me and mercy for others.
I have a hard time accepting mercy or even believing I deserve it. I hold myself to making amends and am pretty hard on myself.
But others …
Some of this might sound a little like I’m siding with, or making excuses for some pretty awful people. Please bear with me.
I hope I can make my point well.
It breaks my heart when I hear about a young person committing a horrific crime. Yes, even Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. He’s still a teenager!
It’s a proven fact that the brain is not fully developed until aged 25.
The ‘thinking through’ process isn’t there yet. Not completely.
What he participated in is atrocious, but I can’t help but mourn the loss of his life too. A bad decision, (to put it mildly) perhaps born from peer pressure, constant teachings from someone he trusted and looked up to – has taken any future he might have had. Gone. In the blink of an eye. No do-overs.
Adults too – Consider this scenario, having gone to dinner – perhaps an impromptu celebration, someone has a glass of wine too many. They get in their car, and end up killing someone. This is was not premeditated – the person is not a murderer. I wonder about their lives before – odds are they were a great parent, gave to charity, were of service, had friends they supported, family they cared for. Their future, Gone. In another blink.
Even when I’m behind someone who’s driving erratically in front of me – I stop and think “Well, maybe they just got into an argument with a loved one, or perhaps they’re running late to work and this is the last chance before they lose their job.” I don’t get angry. I slow down. I consider there is more to the story than I’ll ever know.
But when it comes to me …
I like to think I’ve forgiven myself for the things that haunt me still. If God forgives me, I have no business not following suit. But it’s difficult.
I’ll be honest – when things go awry, there is a part of me that thinks I deserve it. The part of me that has grown so much spiritually, glares at the illogical part of me that believes this then rolls its eyes. I know better. But it is still a part of my thinking.
I pray sometimes for help forgiving myself.
I feel more for others than I do for me.
I have an obsession with the mentally ill. I’m fascinated by the ‘why’ and the ‘how’ of behaviors I don’t understand. I watch shows like Lock Up and the like, and I see a vacancy in murderers eyes. I think, they are capable of such atrocities for a reason. Probably partially born that way, then environment pushing them into the wrong direction.
What if they had love? What if they had services to treat their mental illness? How could they stand a chance without those things?
Of course, I mourn for their victims too – but I do find myself thinking about all involved.
And it’s just such a shame – and such a loss. Those men behind bars were once someone’s babies. They were small and innocent and hopeful once. Then lost. Or perhaps never stood a chance.
And if my heart can be open for them, why not for me?
Another thing to contemplate and pray on.
I’ve put this off – taking people’s feelings into consideration. But it’s time.
I felt brave this week – wearing the brighter lipstick, the eye makeup. As a rule, I only wear rice powder, light mascara a little color on my cheeks and a swipe of lipstick.
I wanted to try something different.
I even wore a beautiful large necklace on Monday – I felt like I had a neon sign over my head ‘LOOK!’
Please don’t look I was saying on the inside.
I’ve been told, and I know that by societies standards, I’m pretty. I don’t consider myself beautiful – but I had nothing to do with my genes and it is a fact, I am not ugly.
Besides not liking to wear makeup, I can’t wear necklaces with earrings at the same time and vice versa.
I can’t wear clothes that draw attention to myself. (Someone complimented me on a particular outfit – that someone was male. I haven’t worn it since).
I don’t want to be looked at for my outside appearance.
I don’t want you to tell me I’m pretty.
Pretty hasn’t served me well.
Pretty has littered my life with ugly.
I have been molested, I have been raped. Multiple times. I have been disrespected, I have been leered at.
I want my soul to be seen. My soul is pretty.
I want my mind to be seen. It is sharp and full of interesting things.
I want my deeds to be felt – my abilities recognized.
I want my heart to be heard beating – maybe that’s why I have tachycardia … maybe it’s trying extra hard?
I want to one day, be in a relationship and not cringe at a touch. To be able to be told I’m pretty and glow with appreciation.
I’ve forgiven the many men who have hurt me. I have forgiven myself for the promiscuity bred from being taught that was love.
But nurture has made more of an impression on my psyche than nature.
I will heal. I will. I have come so far.