I am an ungraced enigma. People waive their preferences for sons and daughters to pray God will not curse them with something like me.
To my face, they promise to pray their God will cure me of being me. Behind my back, they say, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
In fairness, I understand the ancient grammar probably feels eloquent rolling off the tongue. I realize the overwhelming temptation for many to mimic without thought, hoping to cash in on the pious reward of transmitting any quote that uses God’s name. I recognize the importance our society places on popularity and the inability to resist jumping on crowded bandwagons.
It isn’t possible, however, for me to understand where a person finds the arrogance to assume God considers a healthy body or a full wallet a virtue, or graced. I might be their test. How will healthy and wealthy people treat me? Will they toss platitudes and prayers my way and tighten their fists around the social programs I need to keep me alive? Do they believe their god made a mistake with me and will be offended if they intervene? Will they close their eyes and pretend I don’t exist?
I was born knowing my purpose. I came into this life happy, understanding, willing to help everyone without assuming their defects are curses from a god. I love everyone, in sickness and health, good times and bad, rich or poor, and don’t have to marry or give birth to them to feel that way. I want to share what I have until a person demonstrates a desire to hurt me, and then, I hold that person responsible, not their god.
I am not unique. Millions of enigmas sit on stifled resources because the self-proclaimed graced don’t want to barter health care and living expenses for the love generosity, wisdom, and experience of the ungraced.
How a person exhibits faith measures character. I am confident that my god graced me with what I was supposed to share with the world. I feel doubly graced with the knowledge that having more than someone else gives me more responsibility, not condemning or gloating rights.
Here, by the grace of your god, am I, asking you to think.
To my face, they promise to pray their God will cure me of being me. Behind my back, they say, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
In fairness, I understand the ancient grammar probably feels eloquent rolling off the tongue. I realize the overwhelming temptation for many to mimic without thought, hoping to cash in on the pious reward of transmitting any quote that uses God’s name. I recognize the importance our society places on popularity and the inability to resist jumping on crowded bandwagons.
It isn’t possible, however, for me to understand where a person finds the arrogance to assume God considers a healthy body or a full wallet a virtue, or graced. I might be their test. How will healthy and wealthy people treat me? Will they toss platitudes and prayers my way and tighten their fists around the social programs I need to keep me alive? Do they believe their god made a mistake with me and will be offended if they intervene? Will they close their eyes and pretend I don’t exist?
I was born knowing my purpose. I came into this life happy, understanding, willing to help everyone without assuming their defects are curses from a god. I love everyone, in sickness and health, good times and bad, rich or poor, and don’t have to marry or give birth to them to feel that way. I want to share what I have until a person demonstrates a desire to hurt me, and then, I hold that person responsible, not their god.
I am not unique. Millions of enigmas sit on stifled resources because the self-proclaimed graced don’t want to barter health care and living expenses for the love generosity, wisdom, and experience of the ungraced.
How a person exhibits faith measures character. I am confident that my god graced me with what I was supposed to share with the world. I feel doubly graced with the knowledge that having more than someone else gives me more responsibility, not condemning or gloating rights.
Here, by the grace of your god, am I, asking you to think.
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