Exiting the Snowglobe

I am now an amateur therapist to the misdirected and the miscreant. Bartender I have become. Were I to let it, this mediation between martini and souse could uproot the trappings of orthodoxy I am planted in and cast me onto the roadside of worldliness. There my conscience would be trampled by the bustling and carousing of a crowd unaware of the destination their wide road was leading them towards. They are too busy contemplating their feet to be bothered with where those feet are taking them.

But grounded I shall remain, unblown by the winds of instantaneous gratification, undrawn by the fragrant scent of temptation. It will not be easy. Worthy things rarely are. Yet, something will make it all possible for me. I believe in the grace God gives for sanctification. And I believe hard.

I spent my college years bubbled in a Christian university. Before that, I went to a private Christian school. For 13 years. I would not call myself sheltered, but would anyone call themselves that? The Christian education is by no means a bad thing, I am very grateful for it, but I have since learned that that environment is very resistant to certain sins (say, knocking over a 7-11) and very susceptible to other sins (like condescension, or envy). And when you exit that encapsulated world, you find that outside the Thomas Kinkade snowglobe, every temptation is rocketed at you like a Randy Johnson fastball. It is easy to give in slowly, to take a small step down, and then another, and another, until the miniature staircase of compromise has led you all the way down to hell.

Holiness is not easy. Sin is. Life, if lived well, is not always comfortable. The mind of the young man is wayward and easily swayed. My roots must run deeper than my enemy's determination. Bartender am I, pagan I will not be.