Cambodia, I love your idols.
your golden statues that exalt buddha & co.,
your spirit houses that boast freshly laid offerings,
perfectly manicured temples,
even the stores that sell idols to grace your home.
I love them because I love that you are honest
about what you worship.
Me?
I’m sneaky about my idols.
Mine are hidden.
They’re socially acceptable.
I justify the disproportionate time and attention I give them.
I’d rather claim that they’re not there.
I mean, they’re not really idols,right?
They’re just things I’m passionate about.
I can’t eat that.
I mean… it’s important what I put in my body.
He’s just a good friend.
Well, I have to be a good friend too, right?
It’s not that I don’t trust God’s plan for me,
it’s just that I’m just trying to be proactive.
Yeah, I don’t really care what they think.
But — what the heck is going on in their head right now?
I am
great at justifying
pretty good at hiding
and quick to deny
when it comes to idols
My idols are just as disgusting,
but less obvious than that golden shrine on the corner.
Buddhists, on the other hand?
Boom.
The idols are right there.
Displayed.
Praised.
On the streets,
painted gold,
polished,
prayed to,
conspicuous.
They call it what it is.
I wish
that my idols could be so obvious.
I kinda wish
that other people could see them.
I really wish
that they were physically built
so they could be physically shattered…
because this internal battle is exhausting.
this battle for what gets my hallelujah.
man, these idols.
I oscillate between
tending to them and taking them captive,
pulling them in and pushing them back,
their immediate comfort and His ultimate satisfaction.
Give me the day when I answer to only one Lord.
Give me the day when I laugh
about what I thought was important when I was 22.
Give me the day when Truth trumps these old hand-holds.
