A good day. Maybe you know what that is. I thought I did. I've since changed my mind. My idea of a good time eventually drug me through the worst hell I have ever known. A hell so deep and dark it could have only been made worse by having to crawl through it alone. I have yet to see a greater affinity of friends than ones made in the abscessed corners of misery.

I squint hard to see something special in rude and crude people I too easily want to dismiss as not worth the trouble. Because they are trouble. Yet, like Matt, I have found they have value, too.

These people, the church, help me achieve sanity as a way of life. They offer me an active role in a vibrant community. They help me find value and meaning.

I have figured out the meaning of life. It is to cry. 

The worst human condition to endure surely must be to feel all alone.

What people think of me may matter, but sometimes I care what others think about me more than I should. How someone may see me should not outweigh how I perceive myself.