Throughout my life, I've been told that the golden key to the gates of heaven is to emulate Jesus's life.
Now, on the surface, the idea sounds all too comforting and ideal. For what possible reason would one not desire to be like Christ? After all, Christ is the example of true perfection within a living being.
Why would anyone, then, not want to be the one who heals the sick, forgives the unforgiving, and guides the people to a better life for all?
It is at this very place that my mind arrives at the realization this is a path upon which my feet are not destined to walk.
Let me Explain.
First, I’ll beguine with the body; Jesus has a body of true and ultimate beauty and perfection, with not one cut, scratch, or even a hair that is out of place.
Whereas my body, however, is one covered with scars, broken bones, and deformations; although my body may not be beautiful in any way, over time, we have grown accustomed to each other’s company.
Each muscle within my body has been more than willing to adapt to each new injury that occurs. Although my body forever remains in a state of disrepair, the majority of tasks can still be accomplished with only minor difficulties. Each broken bone stands as a testament to the fact that I have never been one to take the easier directions in life. And finally, each one of my scars, though not pleasing to the eye, is a page in the novel of who I was, who I am, and who I will become.
Next, let us take a look at the head, for Jesus, the very moment you look upon his face; you immediately find yourself lost within the eyes of a man who will bring comfort to your soul.
When you look upon my face, however, you see a man who has held back his tears for far too long, for no other reason than that his eyes have forgotten how to cry, who has often lost his marbles and will forever remain destined to search for them one by one, but you also see a man who has lived, who has died, and who wakes up every day to do it again.
Yes, Blessed be those destined to walk in the footsteps of Christ, and Blessed be those who have been reborn by the healer, but blessed be those of us who remain the broken toys, who have taken up residence on shelves in the back room of the toy store.
Although we often walk together, leaving footprints in the sand, his are those of perfect feet. At the same time, my footprints are accompanied by the marks left by the chains I drag through life, each link forged by sin and regret; though they do not way me down, instead, it is by each individual link that I have learned to be, who I will become.
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