While I was at the age where I thought all poetry had to rhyme, I wrote a poem about two people arguing about whether zebras were black with white stripes or white with black stripes. This is all I remember:
Mr. Black and Mr. White
Sat on a bench and had a fight
Was it black stripes on top of white?
Or was it vice versa, who was right?
(I was pretty hyped that I used the phrase vice versa at the time) However, this simple poem got me thinking: what is the definition of normality? Specifically, if I sin so frequently, is my fallen nature really dead, or do I keep living how I want to while trying to serve God at the same time?

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