Not all are Saints

“Come, thou Fount of every blessing,

    tune my heart to sing thy grace;

    streams of mercy, never ceasing,

    call for songs of loudest praise.

    Teach me some melodious sonnet,

    sung by flaming tongues above.

    Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,

    mount of thy redeeming love.”

-Robert Robinson

My voice gently sings from the bottom of my heart, on my church’s benches as I recalled how my striking past that has tormented me, yet taught me so much.

Being a hyperactive child does not gain you the liking of parents. Adults looking at you with an annoyed look, but who payed attention to that? My head being forced to turn their way for a scolding on what I had done wrong, or so they claimed. The sound of laughs, panting, shoes stomping the floor as they run; the uncomfortable feeling of sweat dripping, hair flowing everywhere with our movements, they all filled the air as myself and the other kids played games on Tuesday nights at church. Yet, one by one, kids were being prevented from playing with me and I watched as their mothers and fathers called and they walked away with frowns on their faces. My smile disappeared and my shoulders lowered in disappointment. I was said to be a bad influence, being scolded for something I never even did -oh those church days.

    While in Primary(the section kids from 3-12 years go in my church), girls would whisper as I passed by. One day Melany mentioned about how my house was hideous and horrible. Fury rushed through the depths of my soul, as I looked at my mom struggle to the point of shedding blood to pay for that ‘horrible’ house. Hate towards that girl grew within me. Who was she to talk that way? What was wrong with my place? I stayed away from her and her friends.

    Keeping my distance for many years, I became the outcast in Young Women(girls from 12-18 years). By saying something simple I would get a death glare and a harsh answer, I decided not to argue with it. I was not like them. They would speak of things that up to this day never stops surprising me.

    Trying to sleep in those camp tents with Sofia pulling my hair in an attempt to fight me while the others laughed in amusement. How could I bear it all? The loneliness would pierce a hole into my soul out which slowly dripped my heart. I lost the desire to attend. People would come over, tell me to attend that I was giving the girls pleasure by not attending. I started to attend once more believing I was strong enough, that I could even change them, I had no hate left within me, and for an unknown reason I just wanted to help them stop and choose the right for them to be okay. I would even attend dances, but as expected, in slow dances I sat alone as I saw them dance with one guy after another while my mind dozed off into thinking of them, “you are beautiful, enjoy it, dance, laugh.” The road home was a taste of bitterness, as they would talk and ask who I danced with while I looked out the window.  

    Eventually, I reached the point of leaning my head on the wall, staring at the door knob unable to

 turn it without the longing to give in to the pain that was dragging me down and cry. My limit was

reached. How can all these people who have ‘known me’ for so long see me and treat me worse than

they would ever treat their own dogs? Then I realized, not all are Saints.