No rest for the wicked

My sister is also my best friend. If someone said our souls were bound from former lives ... I would probably be inclined to believe so. We live our lives but the bond is always there. Like an invisible thread, a link. She is a part of me. But we are very much different. We do not look the same, have the same mannerism and even our thought trains just go different ways. If we didn't grow in the same household and go over the situations we did ... If she was just a stranger that I met somewhere ... I am confident to say we wouldn't even like each other. But life molded us and what happened is what I imagine happens to soldiers in a war zone. When two different people collide and have no one to rely on but the person next to you. We bounced each other off. I took the brunt of the beating, taking the fault when needed and she was always there to coax me out when I needed it. Dissecting it now it is one of the things that shaped me. The pink glasses she sometimes wears when she looks at me.

I'm going to be a godmother next month. My feelings are conflicted. While I find honor in that she asked me I am not a Christian. I was raised as one yes. And yes ... can even say there was probably not a child who would pray as hard as I did. God might as just have been my imaginary friend. I prayed, talked and bantered with the man for a long time. How many promises did I lay before his feet? Always saying I will do better.

Nothing wrong with trying to do better. But God seemed to be fussy and kept demanding more and more. Trying to be clean was a rats race. So my faith in him died. But my faith in me grew. God may not fix this ... But I can. God can forgive me ... but there is no greater forgiveness that the one you can give yourself. When you accept it and just let it go.

Yes. Yes, I lied like there was no tomorrow while my brother sweated profoundly next to me. I plastered that smile on my face while a stranger was weighting my profession, my non - existent marital status, and uncleanness. My judge and jury. A man who was younger than me. A man who didn't walk my road. And for a glimpse there he made me do it. Make me feel bit dirty. The difference now is ... I do not mind being dirty. The good things sometimes demand it.

I may be the suckiest godmother ever. I may not teach my niece all the God's ways. But I will teach her how to strive and survive and that sometimes ... sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty and not feel ashamed about it.