Poor Mark Sanford, Poor Michael Jackson, Poor Human Frailty

Two tragedies this week (actually 3, lest I forget the passing of Farrah Fawcett), the death of Michael Jackson and, perhaps, the death of Mark Sanford's career.

One... I want to be sad for Michael Jackson, but he, like Ms. Fawcett, became such a shell of what inspired his following in the first place... I feel like they both left us a long, long time ago.

Michael before the masks and the nose and the pedophile accusations and the Islam and the lawsuits. Farrah before the drugs and the bad plastic surgery and the domestic abuse incidents.

Beauty turned ugly.

At least Whitney Houston still has a chance to change her life around and avoid this type of mixed feeling instead of mourning.

And Mark Sanford...

I admit at first I was just irritated with him, and really disappointed with his choices. When one decides to go into public service, sacrifices are expected. Or don't do it. And adultery is just really really terrible.

But I had forgotten about simple human frailty, had remembered justice but forgotten mercy.

I read his emails and heard a poet and a romantic, and just felt really really badly for him.

YES... and for his wife, and for his sons, and for his supporters, and for the GOP, and all the hopes and dreams and dependences that others had on him. Of course.

But anyway, that was my lesson this week. We're all so very weak and frail. Neither fame nor fortune nor talent nor power nor beauty can protect us from that fact. May God, and people, have mercy on us all.