The Purple Tie

A year ago today (well, thanksgiving), I was sitting here in this chair. The throne of thrones at ASC Desk in the commons. 10 am shift. I was wearing this purple shirt. I was wearing this purple tie.

I hate being told I'm wrong. And if you told me that everybody is like that, I would hate it. My life is how I run it, and that's how it is. I was born this way. This path was revealed to me. Blah, blah....

What do you do when a very credible source tells you you're wrong? How do I, as Eve 6 puts it, "swallow my pride"? Who wants to listen to criticism? What would life be like without it?

Well, no one would tell you that you couldn't do 'that'. What ever 'that' is. I would choose my own way, without recommendation, without Grandmotherly wisdom, without self-help books.

How far would I get?

When I was in 2nd grade, I got in some petty argument with my mother. I felt all this righteouness like I was owed something by her (or something). I decided on my own that I was gettin' out of there. I was hittin' the road. I was going to run away from home, from rules, from guidelines, from everything that was "holding me back". I grabbed my meager marbles-bag of a backpack and stuffed it with three shirts, a pair of shorts, and bread. I know, I know, that's a lot, but I planned on being away for 20 years. I got on my goliath bike with pegs on the back, and I started for the elementary school connected to my neighborhood. I lived in a small town called Jimtown. It's about 3 square miles in it's entirety. I rode my bike to the high school, down CR 22 to 5 points, and back towards my house on CR118. But I was not going back home. I was right, and I was not going to give them the benefit of showing weakness. So I went to play catch with my buddy Vella whose house was just down the road from mine. I had been gone long enough for my parents to get worried. After a couple throws, my dad pulls up and tells me to get home. How did he find me?! It's no worry, though. I had won. They broke before I did.

I was a brat.

I know this now, and most times I was aware of it growing up.

Who wants to be told they're wrong? Who wants to be told they are insuffiscent to properly care for themselves? Who wants to be told that cannot save themselves?

I do. I want to be told that. I want to be wrong. I want to be weak. I want to be vulnerable. I want to be insuffiscent. Why? Because that is when God shows his face. That is when he shows up, when a little lamb has a broken leg.

We all suck and need help. We need criticism so we don't blow our heads off and ruin everyone's lives with our natural stupidity. We need God.

Last year, in this throne of thrones at ASC Desk in the commons, sitting in this chair, wearing this shirt, and this purple tie, I think I wrote a blog going home or something. Every year they get better!