Where do you get dreams like this?

It is the day after Easter Sunday and I’m thinking about redemption.

I’m not a religious person by nature. Something about this holiday struck a chord with me.

I believe in redemption. That may seem like a strange thing to say, like redemption is a matter of faith. But for me, it is.

I am reading a series of novels right now by Stephen R Donaldson called The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, which is a story of redemption. It features a man who has been plagued – but not overcome – with leprosy. He is a man who was once a beautiful human, turned wretched – physically, emotionally, and spiritually – by illness. He lost everything to leprosy, first in the physical realm – his wife, his child, any social ties – and then he pushed himself to become almost mechanical, nearly sub-human, in order to survive.

Early in the first book of this series, Lord Foul’s Bane, Thomas Covenant commits an act so atrocious that I – as a reader – was not sure I could forgive him. I’m still not sure I have. And yet, somehow, the characters in the book maintain faith that there is good within him. They hold not only to their precept of peace, but the majority of them somehow forgive him.

I have not finished the series, but I believe Covenant will be redeemed.

I’m afraid I am on a similar journey to Covenant. Although there is no singular event to pinpoint as the height of my instability and grotesque illness, I have definitely been near where Covenant was. For Covenant, he was not dead, but on the brink of dying, and fighting to stay on life’s edge of death. For myself, I was not dead, but on the brink of living, and unsure what side of death I wanted to be on. We both made ourselves sub-human, for a time. And in becoming sub-human, we immersed ourselves in self-loathing.

My story of redemption has sat squarely in the realm of allowing myself to be vulnerable, uncomfortable, and honest. A big part of this, I realize, is accepting that, while I have a unique set of life experiences, this does not mean others cannot engage with me as a whole person. I do not have to pare down myself into bite-size chunks and only dole out the ones that I think people want, hoarding the rest to go rotten.

I struggle to write on the topic of the redemption of others, as I have much more fear that it may not be universal, redemption. I fear that redemption is not available to all. It is a fear that sits deep in my chest. But in the end, I choose to have faith. I have faith in redemption. I guess, in the end, I have faith in myself. In humanity. In the world.

Mara Passio
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