chains

Justice is a paradox.
We crave justice when it comes to others; when it comes to wrongs committed against us. But what about the sins we have committed? Do we jump at the chance to seek retribution against ourselves?
Today I went to court. Not for myself, but with a friend who was there to testify against a girl, not even fifteen. This girl, along with a group of her friends, had stolen my friend's purse one night, inside a church, no less. It was premeditated, and yes, it was wrong. It took my friend months to fully reorganize her life.
"Out of a church!", you gasp. "What a bunch of little thieves!" And you lower your eyes, shake your head and frown at the girl...at the demise of our culture...at the parents who raise such children.
And yet, as I watched this young girl, stand in the cold patio, with her skinny jeans, and purple Phat jacket, all I saw was a scared young woman. A girl who had sinned, and was yet to learn her fate.
Do I want my wrongdoings taken to court? The lies I've told, recorded on paper and read before a judge? How would I feel if I were to have witness up on witness stand and give testimony of every sinful thought or action I have ever had in my entire life.
The trial would take months, maybe even years.
You laugh.
You ask, who has time to record every lie I speak? Every blasphemous word I carelessly unleash upon an innocent child? Who cares where my feet take me late at night, on my own time, where no one knows me?
It matters.
Every action, thought, and intent of your heart is being watched, recorded and used to build a case against you.
The evidence? : your life.
The Judge? : God

You seek justice for the murder victim's family. You know right from wrong. You want good to win, and evil to lose.
Unless it is in your own life.
Some might call it hypocrisy. I like to view it as a paradox. A puzzle with no answer: We crave justice to the very innermost parts of our being but we hide from justice till our last breath is breathed.
Guess what? We can't have it both ways.
However, unlike other riddles, this paradox does have an answer. A trapdoor, a secret passage, another dimension, whichever way you wish to imagine it.
And that answer is Jesus Christ.
Jesus came into this world not to act as our accuser, to condemn us to the fate we have all earned, but He came as our lawyer, our stand-between. That someday, when we stand before the Judge, before that throne, the list of litigations against us will be thrown out of court. It will be as useless as hearsay because it will be covered in the blood of our Saviour.
And we will not receive the justice we deserve, because our lawyer has already served the sentence for us and stands to defend us before our maker.
I will be there someday.
So will you.
So will the young girl I met today, standing across the courtyard, waiting her turn to receive justice.
And I keep this in mind as I observe a fallen world. That their destiny without Christ is far worse than any sentence a Judge can hand out here on earth.
And I pray.
Tonight.
Tomorrow.
And every day after.
Every day brings me 24 hours closer to my trial, where I am convinced that because of the sacrifice that Jesus Christ willingly gave, my sentence will be eternity in heaven with my Lord.
What will your verdict be on that day?

Waves

My mind tries to understand things it shouldn't.
Quantum Mechanics, for example. String theory. Parallel Universes.
While other girls puzzle over which pair of boots to wear with the designer jeans they found on sale last week, my mind attempts to wrap itself around quarks. To verbalize such musings always leads to the inevitable: a dull ache in the conversation, louder than the words spilling out of my mouth and landing on ears unwilling, or possibly unable, to find interest in their meaning.
And so I listen to other sentences, strung together, giggled, whispered. "boys". "fashion". Even "politics". I feign interest so you do not feel as I do when my ideas fly over their head and form a cloud of obvious boredom around their perfectly made-up faces. My mind wanders to the way in which the color of her blush is merely a perception of light waves interacting at the molecular level. And how the perfect brownish tan she has from head to toe is a mask to hide probable cell mutations caused by unprotected exposure to uv radiation. And for a mere second I dare to peak into the closet of my insecurities, and ponder upon the pasty whiteness of my own epidermis. I dare not verbalize for fear of social shunning. I hang on by a thread of girly fascade as it is.
And then there are things I do not understand and never will.
Emotions for one. Logic evades all attempted battles I have held with the puzzle of human emotion. I find it strange that others let emotions rule their lives. How they build a throne and place a sceptor in her un-capable webbed hands. And then blame others when life doesn't meet their expectations. Maybe emotion is not so much a chosen ruler, an annointed one, place upon the throne, as an evil dictator, allowed to invade and take up residence in our halls.
Do emotions allow us to handle the enigmas of life? Or is it possible that emotions roadblock the solution that would allow us to cut through the fog and continue living. Can and should the dictator be dethroned? And what an epic battle that would be...
Words come slower than thoughts and fingers type faster than ideas.
I love to observe humanity and revel in its absurdity. Someday I will write on that. I will also write about quantum mechanics, and not just my fascination with the concept. But that will probably bore you. Someday I will tell you who I am, or at least the events that have helped create my persona.
I will attempt to narrate the tightrope I walk in this society. I never expect to fit in but someday I may contribute.