I don't think anyone expected me to come this far and end up here like this.
Not my mother, when she gave birth to me, even as raised me alone
to be a humble and pious adult.
Not my friends in high school, with whom I did more terrible
things than I am ever able to forgive myself.
Hell, not even I did as I applied for theology studies, still not fully sober
to grasp the reality I seemingly without care decided to build my future in.
Yet here I am, in church, Ash Wednesday, with hundreds of believers
standing in line, patiently awaiting their turn to receive a cross of ashes,
me eventually meeting the forehead of all worshippers,
leaving them looking more and more dirty than devout as the day goes by.
I believe only God can truly decide who is to become one of his servants,
a priest- that he appears to these chosen people somehow, sending them signs.
I guess that's why I'm here, he never appeared to me.
And they found out on the day of my ordination.
But at least my remains are used for a good cause.
