I was recently reproached by a family member about my church-going. This person's assessment of me was that my life isn't or was never perfect, that I don't live the life of the standard picture perfect Christian. I reckon this family member's assessment of me is that I'm a dabburn hypocrite for living my life the way I do and then going to church on Sunday. Okay, to this person whom I love very, very much: Nope, I ain't perfect. I'm flawed. I've made mistakes and I've made my mistakes with you and I will continue to make mistakes as long as I roam this little blue planet. But I like going to church. I like the way I feel when I'm sitting there listening to a good sermon from the Good Book. I like singing the hymns. It makes me feel good about all the wrong or bad things I did during the week, primarily because I know that we all do wrong or bad things and the Christian faith is about love and forgiveness. I look at some of the people Christ chose for disciples, the conversion of Saul to Paul, and I figure that there's still hope for me. The way I see it is that church is for fine upstanding Christians and it's for sinners too, and I know that I'm more apt to fall into the category of the latter than the former.
So, say or think what you will about me. You can judge me, convict me, sentence me. I can only and will only think of good times with you. Focusing on the good times and forgetting the bad is a form of forgetfulness that I've been afflicted with since I passed the half-century mark. Life is too short to wallow in the bad.
Now, that being said, I know that this person is going through some tough times, has their own problems and was lashing out, trying to peg someone to blame. If you need someone to blame, I'm your man. Blame me. Everything that's been done to you and your current life situation is my fault. Get it out of your system and maybe we can move on, sit down, have a laugh or two and enjoy each others' company again before our time on this little blue planet expires.