So much I ask God to remove from me, but this service happens slowly, honey-pour slowly. A little less judgment is still a big pool in my heart. Less of the wrong is still wrong. Wrong food, wrong words, wrong thoughts. I wish I could sift it all away, and shine, clarified and calm. Instead, I’m wrought with wrongness. Even when it’s down to a splinter, say, of gossip, well, you know how a splinter festers. But every bit I wish I wasn’t keeps me humble, human.