PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As I will possibly be preparing, on December 29th, for surgery on the 30th, I wanted to post this two days earlier than I had planned.  I also apologize in advance for any typos I may miss, and ask the reader's kind indulgence for my poor keyboarding skills.

  On December 29th, of 2019, I received a comment, made in good faith, which, for reasons of my own pride and self-righteousness, sent me into a tailspin of anger.  At that time, I was afflicted with a transverse myalitis in which my auto-immune system had decided, on Thanksgiving Day night, to cut off the blood supply to the nerves of my lower spine, removing from my control the ability to stand, to walk, and to control my bathroom functions.  Steroidal medications restored sensation---skewed sensation in which every touch feels like "pins and needles"---to my legs and feet.  I am still catherized in the bladder (the impending surgery is to try to improve that siutation) and the other function has been recovered.  I can walk only with the aid of a walker, and only briefly.  My insurance company cut off my physical therapy, which will resume next June when I qualify for Medicare.

   But the comment was innocent enough, and simply expressed that the style and content of the poem in question (which is no longer here at postpoems) was not the kind of poem the commentor would, himself, write.  For reasons I cannot now explain, I treated this as a sign of disrespect and responded in kind.

   And responded.  And responded.

   I made of postpoems---the website I love like no other, the place where all of my poems are posted---a petty battleground for a tempest in the empty teapot of my own head.  I have since repented and have received a word of forgiveness, both from the person I wronged, and later, privately, in prayer from the Lord.

   Several days ago, I learned form my cargiologist that the left side of my heart continues to fail.  I do not know, of course, how long I can survive with that problem continuing, nor if I will even survive the impending bladder surgery (as I write, there is still a possibility that my cardiologist will overrule my urologist and forbid the surgery).  I do not have enough time left to engage in petty squabbles, especially of my own making.

   And so, Stephen, although you have graciously forgiven me, I want to reiterate that I continue to learn lessons from the debacle, which was caused entirely by my words.  That we do not agree on politics or literature or the classics of literature is of no consequence:  we agree on postpoems, and that is the only agreement required.  

   Although I cannot speak for Stephen's spiritual beliefs, and have no right even to inquire, I will say that I have learned much about Christian behavior from him.  He is foremost a gentleman.  Reflecting on how I mistreated him, I can easily understand why the Apostle Saint Paul, near the end of his life, described himself as the Chief of Sinners,  Paul may have believed that title had accrued to him, but in our present time, that title is specifically mine.  At least in my sinful state, I am reminded---constantly---of my need for a Savior.  The Gospel is about joy and happy anticipation, not about wrath.  And Jesus, Himself, said that before I offer my gift at the altar, I must reconcile with my brother.  Stephen . . . thank you for forgiving me, so that I may go on to offer my paltry gift, such as it is, on the altar.

Starward