Leprosy Soul

So let's picture our souls as something divine, beautiful almost, when we were born it was made completely in the imagine of God after all. A white page. Some would say that when you commit acts of sin, that it is like black spots forming on your soul - the white page. I'm telling you - you wish. Because then you could just use an eraser, or cover it up, I'm being metaphorical. Keep up.

Our souls are plagued by sin. A priest, quite the dramatic man, that preached in church today, said that "Leprosy is a metaphor for sin" "An illness that each of us are living with, and spreading, and unable to find a cure for" and quite like someone suffering from Leprosy, we watch our souls, the very essence of our beings fall apart, burst into sores, and we rip away at the very flesh of our oh-so-delicate humanity. And we do it for small moments of pleasure on this earth. So like the page, it isn't black spots, or black splurges of ink, rather our souls are taking flame and bits of it, is being burnt off bit by bit, until finally we are left with a fragmented version of what we once were, and ash at our feet. And there really is no way of putting something turned to ash back together - unless of course, you allow yourself to admit that this is what you're doing to your soul. And say sorry - and mean it.

I think we need to stop blaming everyone around us for our own leprosy, it's not about who infected us, but rather that we allowed ourselves to be infected. And continue to allow ourselves to fall apart, instead of fighting our own pride, and to admit that we are nothing and only He can help us.

I feel like a lot of the time, the things I write are centered on God, but I'm not going to apologize, I almost understand that I will lose people in my life because of it. I won't apologize, but I'll say excuse me, to those of you reading who don't understand, but really the center of my life is God. How am I supposed to write, when the very bases of my writing comes from Him and what He has given me?

Please let me know what you think, or if you wanna talk about anything at any point. Follow me on Twitter ok? @LynnSeale

Excuse me, sinner coming through

I learned, very harshly if I may add, that one should never make a Blog too personal. But I swear that I find it hard to make anything in my life impersonal, I am here and so are you. So why not intertwine our spirits and invoke a sense of fellowship in our hearts, rather than fear that someone actually learns about the real you. I am not scared of the real me, the once broken and cracked shell, is in fact being carefully placed back together again by spirituality and a belief in divinity, and here Humpty Dumpty was telling me it couldn't be done. Maybe he just hadn't accepted Jesus into his life. 

I'm not trying to change you, and I don't even intend on asking you to understand me because as it stands this is pretty much a one way conversation. But rather, I'm trying to show you me; the naked, dirty, irresponsible and awkward me, so that you'll begin to un clothe and take apart the very pieces of rubble that stand between you and the world. I know that it is scary, being naked, your soul exposed to the world that has both molded and ruined it. We say that we are our own people, but basically we've all been carved away at and had pieces added to us by those that walk passed us, and maybe no longer even smile at us. 

I am just like you, a sinner. But I have this vague sense of depth about me, that could usually be seen by the way I stare at people or how I sometimes say things that are only seemingly deep, but to me are only words that oft go unsaid. I'm going to say it, and you, unknown to me, will read this and wonder why I'm so intent on saying these words. I am a sinner. Let me explain, when I say I am a sinner this deep rooted sense of freedom befalls my soul, because it is admittance of guilt, guilt that we walk around with everyday, but it is a surrendering of power as well, and acceptance of consequence. I am a sinner. It is not an excuse however, it is rather a submission that I am not perfect, and even though I am made in the image of God, who is divine, I am in fact not God. I am only but a small fraction of his face, a freckle on the skin of Divinity, a flaw. But I am intended to be here. I've been attempting to write for a long time, but can't seem to start somewhere. So I'll start here, with my admittance of humanity and guilt, and hopefully in that we can find some sense of common ground. When I write here, I write as someone flawed and impossible to sometimes deal with, but someone who is sorry. You don't have to follow my lead, or ever read these words again, or any word that I type but remember this, there's a reason you won't return, a fear of the unknown, of being everything that is wrong with the world, with the possibility of being everything that is perfect about it. 

I am a sinner. I am responsible. I am sorry.