I keep thinking: all we misfits, we pariahs, the collection of we who try and fail: it is we who are the children of God, for it is that our home is not here, and that we will never conform to the standards of this world: I get the feeling we are meant for better things. As He was, before us — the world did not know Him, this light in the darkness, for His ways were not the ways of the world, and the darkness comprehended Him not. He called us to do as He did, to be kind to those who despitefully use you, to pray for your enemy, to turn the other cheek; these ways are still incomprehensible to the authorities of this earth. And He told us that those in sorrow are the fortunate, for they shall find joy, and that the poor are the blessed, as theirs is all Heaven — that that which was above belonged to those who were far, far below. Did He not even heal the lepers, touching those who were called unclean? He understood all we outcasts, for perhaps this thing is so: we the botched, we the malformed, we the dirty and the faulty, we who have thought destiny had forgotten us altogether: it is to we, and about us, whom Jesus meant when He prophesied, “The meek shall inherit the earth.”