I believe in evolution.

Evolution is impossible.

My professors and my society and my own brain told me to write the words on the chalkboard of my mind.

Once wounded, always wounded. Once addicted to habitual (even regressive) patterns, always addicted. Once severed from community, always severed. Once abandoned, always abandoned.

But I know my autobiography will never be powerful so long as I believe the lie that

Evolution is impossible.

So I begin purging the white powder from inside of me. I begin to hope for wholeness, even if that wholeness really translates into brokenness. And, on important days, I scratch evolution as a possibility on the chalkboard. On the most important days, I scratch something else:

I'm evolving into the true knowledge of God and love and faith in

f r a g m e n t e d pieces.

My body, after the transition, will still be the same--
A vessel of mortality and weakness painted as strength.
But my heart and my mind will be like water to You, Father.

Maybe, too, maybe someday...I'll be able to watch my mother, my father, my brother, my church, and the love of my life evolve in fragmentation. I won't suffer unrest when their story of evolving is messy, painful, or different than my own.

Maybe someday I'll see the evolution just as important as the transformation.