If a day comes that I am to be judged, it won't be a judgement of the time I spent in genuflection or paying lip service. It will not be for my political or social views. In fact, I don't think it will even have to do with whether or not I think any sort of god exists or what exactly I think "god" is.
It will be for the dirt under my fingernails from nurturing my garden and the Earth.
It will be for the callouses on my hands from working hard for myself and my family.
It will be the paint smudge on my nose from giving light to my creative spirit.
It will be for my stretch marks and the beauty of giving life.
It will be for my scars, both visible and non, as proof that I took risks, failed, and had the strength to heal.
It will be for the egg on my face from daring to be myself in a society of conformity.
It will be for the lines around my eyes from daring to laugh, even at times when I feel like crying.
It will be for the bags underneath my eyes from late nights with my lover and much-too-early mornings with my children.
It will be for my tear-stained sleeve from offering a shoulder to cry on.
It will be for the wine spilled on my dress from celebrating everything and nothing at all.
To live life simply jumping through hoops for the pretense of a life after death misses the point of the life we are given now, which is the only thing any of us can be sure of.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
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