Cruelty and Easter

At the very beginning of 1980, a person inflicted great pain on me. About a year ago this act of cruelty bore some delayed bitter fruit, it kicked my ass again. I tip my hat to the person who did this. It was a very effective act of revenge. A lie told and protected for the purpose of hurting me. It worked. It also hurt countless good people over the last 29 years. People who I hurt and mistreated, as I shared the wealth of anger and pain that she inflicted on me.

The Easter season brings out a little of the martyr in me. Given the thoughts above, it would seem I still carry some scars from my churchgoing childhood. Good Friday was a day when I was expected to act somber. It didn't matter much what was going on in the current world, all in the church were expected to go to the Good Friday service and act as though we were at a funeral for someone we loved. My Mom liked to picture herself up on the cross, suffering greatly and receiving adulation for the pain endured. That's wrong in so many ways I can barely count them.

There is no glory in suffering pain. Pain just sucks. There's no glory in inflicting pain on others, it is just mean. But there is glory in overcoming pain; through personal strength I have found pride I had not experienced before. It has given me a new source of love for myself. There is glory in the strength given to me by others who chose to be kind in response to my weakness. These acts of kindness and love are also glorious.

Happy Easter, y'all.