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Conviction, Confession, Relapse, over and over and over, like a man jumping off the shed with the big wings strapped to his arms that he’s sure will make him soar over the trees, and kersplat…down he goes one more time. But he picks himself up and straightens the wings and trudges home, and that evening decides the problem was the spacing of the feathers.
The next morning he jumps off the roof again.
Eventually you tire of this experiment, and then you go to the big city and see a 747 land at the airport. Wowser. You can throw away your feathered wings and simply buy a ticket. That happened to me. It’s called divine grace.
"— My Above-Average Stroke via MensHealth.com
