Hard to Believe

I find it hard to believe how hard most people find it to believe. Growing up in the schizophrenic arms of the First Baptist Church of Port Wentworth during the late 1960s and early 1970s when God was King of Kings and the Holy Host of others standing around me were the Beatles, I grew to really believe the things I was hearing. God is Love ... All you need is love ... Love your neighbor as yourself ... He ain't heavy, he's my brother ... Red and yellow, black and white, all are precious in his sight ... C'mon people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together try to love one another right now ... The Kingdom shall come on earth as it is in heaven ... You say you want a Revolution? ... Jesus is raised ... One Tin Soldier rides away ... Love is patient. Love is Kind. Love bears all things, hopes all things, endures all things ... You may say I'm a dreamer but I'm not the only one ... And the Lion shall lay down with the Lamb ... O Happy Day ... These things are engrained into my DNA. I really believe them all and do my best to live them. I get knocked around a lot for trusting people too much, being too quick to forgive someone who's done me wrong, and just being too nice. That's not to say I'm can't be difficult ... I'm often impatient, lightning quick to reach conclusions, and have no trouble saying what I think. I'm also perfectly content to let others have their say, just sitting there quietly as I feel their words. But I find it a dichotomy to be cautioned to put too much trust in others and still hold onto the things the church and the Love Generation taught me. It's funny because most who throw me caution are Church People where I think most pretend rather than believe. Sunday service is mostly a celebration of what could have been. I've spent my whole life trying to really get to me. I want to be the person I was created to be. Sure I've fucked up along the way ... all have sinned and fallen short of the glory ... that doesn't bother me much. It's just part of the process of becoming who we really are ... of being who God intended us to become. As I write this a swarm of yellow butterflies have descended upon the red orange Hibiscus blooms surrounded me on the Beloved Back Deck. One anoints my head flying under the umbrella where I sit writing. It gives me pause. I'll keep believing these things. They're too much of who I am ... and I would crumble without them anyway. I just don't find them so hard to believe. And it pains me that others do.