Like saying that it would be alright to wear a shirt of a gas chamber with a bucket of acid on my shoes. Like all tragedies become public statements shouted by good intentioned teens with no foot to stand on. Everything loses it's steam after time after the story becomes just a story and no one remembers that war touches everyone and most of us most of the time don't have a leg to stand on...
The reality behind sacrifice is lost in moments.
I started wearing crosses on my shirts
I saw that crosses were in this season, and it's all about the season when I'm clinging to my youth and this isn't personal.
It's never personal.
I've been looking for a life of conviction. I've been looking for a reason to live because I know that it's so easy to die these days.
Conviction is sewn into my clothing. A symbol on the side of my shoes that I might look at one day and ask myself what weight my faith carries because I've plastered my salvation on my shoes and they carry me just fine.
My salvation looks like misplaced sticks
And I often wonder why it doesn't feel real, why I can't seem to think of the cross when I stare my sin the face and decide to repent later.
The gravity of my salvation fades away like a memory, like a story that used to make me cry and now I tell perfectly.
I don't want tragedy to be the only door to the reality of a cross where life was given for me.
I want to find the cross, find love, and sit there until it sinks in and I understand.
I want to understand.
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