Tinniness painted blues, grays, and pinks

There is a tinniness to sin. It distorts and numbs our lives and those around us. A smile without motive is impossible in our implicit acts of distance or our defiance to love. "...to hurt is to steal..., get on your knees boy."

Picture a woman in tears, her back is bare to you and you can see the surrender of her spine. Each disc testifies to the shallowness of her torso. Her form is lacking clarity. It's not tender and if you were honest it makes you mad. Why so vulnerable? Why so present and beautiful even in anguish? Rage as your actions become lives of their own coming back as glaring slivers of indictment. Her being is in question and you are to blame.

Our sin shapes us. It contorts those we love and those we never gave a damn about, but should have loved. We pretend and pass out shades of blue and hues of light pinks and grays. Just paint my accuser's eyes twilight blue and I can pretend; I can live an unredeemed life. I will paint and paint and paint until my hand finds no strength left. At some point there most be permanence in the color. My accuser outlasts my hand and his glare seeps through my pastel attempts. He doesn't even have to use lies, he just takes my energy and reveals my bareness. The deceiver has more truth than me.

We comfort ourselves with repentance as a spatial act of sufficiency. I did it again - forgive and forget. It's hard work living a life of repentance and let's be honest we all reach pretty shallow to touch the sluggard within. I can't be held responsible for the curve of her spine or the ravines of sadness under his eyes. Erosion makes washes in the desert, not me. Existentially, we are made of our decisions, the response just before the reaction. That moment that separates us from animals and offers new imagination and breath. She can straighten and clothe. Yes and hear the words that follow slowly, deliberately, and distinctly graceless - God will not be mocked.