Utter devotion exists in countless forms, though at times it is hard to perceive until shoved right in front of our eyes: blood, sacrifice, and all. A while ago I read this article about a boy who cut off his hand in response to a blasphemy charge. It’s been hovering around my mind since then.
The situation of the story is inherently tragic, but it isn’t the reason I stayed up countless nights and memorized the patterns of a shadowed ceiling, brain simmering with unruly thoughts. What hit me was the conviction. To be able to commit yourself without so much as a blink—to be able to diminish the careful gap between thought and action. It’s a terrible power. And while it’s dreadful to imagine, I can’t help noticing its impact (if only for hypothetical reasons, and I don’t mean to romanticize this sort of thing): there is no hesitation. An ocean between my own measly self and this boy’s faith. Pure belief. Isn’t that astonishing?