***How did the last year and a half go? I’ll paint you an image clear as archipelagos. It was a disappointment; it was a wounded man without balm or ointment. It was a tunnel, but the light at the end was death; everything I did was a pain down to my every breath. The darkness embraced me. I was in a trench, fighting for my life, as bullets grazed me and bombs fazed me. I struggled, but the sand sank me deeper— imperfections, sins of omission and commission. It hurt me; still, I gave into passion. For a while, I found peace in God’s presence, but my very essence, stained with the stench of sin, guilt and shame became my ambience. Slowly, I began to embrace the darkness; even more, I caressed it and held it to my bosom. And as the sand drew me in, I dug my way to its bottom. The bullets I ran from became my form, and those scars became my clothing. The light at the end of the tunnel, "hope"— I looked towards the light and watched as it became despair; gazed into it, and there I found desire. There, I found solace, and again I had fallen from grace. I tumbled from fields of grass into flames; it was so hot my bones began to melt. Then the Father—my pain, He felt; He reached out from His heavenly realm. I tried, but I couldn’t do it; I had betrayed His love. And what hurt me most was that he didn’t care, and I promised: from me, sin won’t be rare. But for as long as I stray, back to You I’ll find my way. In my own oath I failed; by my betrayal, in a trice, He was impaled. Jesus Christ once more to the cross nailed; still, He called me over and over and over, but my hands were shaken and pale. I couldn’t accept this kindness; indeed, I had failed.***