"My Mind is a Pandora's Box"

“I finally found where I belong”

Oh how important are the details to You, Lord. You’re big enough, strong enough, powerful enough, LOVING enough to take care of and oversee every one. Nothing is out of Your sight. Nothing gets overlooked by You. Nothing is too small. You care about what we eat. You care about what we wear. In the small things You prove Your faithfulness so that we are better able to understand Your faithfulness in the big things. How precious is each second in your sight. God, thank You for never leaving my side. Thank You for proving Yourself faithful time and time again. Thank You for loving me in the small things, like finding me a parking spot, and in the big things like finding me when I was so alone. Thank You for loving me so faithfully. Thank You for Your strong arms surrounding me, and Your gentle hands holding my fragile soul together. Thank You, when I was so alone, for giving me brothers and sisters and a Father. Thank You for my Comforter. Thank You that You don’t leave, even when I tell You to out of anger. Most of all, thank You for promising a Savior, and giving Yourself to fulfill that promise. Thank You for seeing to every detail of Your awesome plan to set me free. Thank You that in You I am home. In You I live, and move, and have my being. Thank You, thank You, thank You, Father. 

Sound of Silence (part two)

Through peepholes I gaze at a world long wondered at, but never understood. I see, reflected, a body not belonging to me, a face that doesn’t connect. Though it moves as I tell it, more often it betrays me. It doesn’t follow through, it doesn’t obey. I tell myself I’m happy, but my mouth remains frowned. I swear that I am sad, but my eyes won’t shed a tear. I try to draw myself, but my hands won’t do as they are told, my eyes don’t put the images together. How trapped I am. But what is it that’s trapped? After all, my body is so much a part of my soul, and my soul a part of my body. It is not just the body that betrays, but the spirit, the mind, the heart. Everywhere is darkness. My mind seems to control me. Where does the cage end and the real me begin? I feel like the “real” me I believe in is but a figment of my imagination. That the girl I think I am is the girl I wish I was. My fantasy is so powerful, I get confused. I’m not sure what’s real anymore. I am overwhelmed as I look at the pale skin, and sad, hollow eyes looking back at me. My head spins and my body aches. My sight grows fuzzier than my mind and I retreat to a world within the jail. From within I gaze out. What I see is not representative of who I am. I wonder if I was seen for who I am, would I be beautiful or ugly. In my thoughts I see myself as beautiful trapped in an ugly shell, but the hard reality is just the opposite. I am rotting from the inside out. My exterior deceives. It deceive even me. I should be fatter, paler, uglier. My flesh should rot, my eyes bloodshot, my ears shrivel, and my hair fall out. My body should be infected, and my nails ripped off. Cuts should cover every inch of my oily skin, kept company by sores and pustules. My lips should crack from dehydration, and my teeth should yellow from lack of care. Oh, if I were only able to see the personification of my soul. Maybe then I would feel at home. Instead I see this person, neither beautiful nor ugly, looking back at me just as unknowingly as I look at her. 

“Bind my wandering heart to Thee.”

Oftentimes I feel aimless in my wandering, like all I do is fill my time with things that will tune out the silence. I feel purposeless. I have wished for death, if only as an escape from the seeming emptiness within. I cry out to God, because I don’t know what else to do. And how blessed am I that He answers. He has given me this wandering heart to prepare me for my life with Him as a missionary. I don’t have a specific goal, in regards to a place, or a job, but I do have one for eternity. And that’s all I need to know. I was created with a purpose, and my purpose is this: to glorify God with my life. At this point, He has left the path up to me, the direction I go, so long as He is with me wherever I head, and I shout His praises along the way, letting the world know of His awesome might and power. He reminds me that the emptiness I feel is my seeking to find purpose in empty things of this world. But, as He so often tells me, the goal is His glory. Even in the trivial, mundane chores, by the grace and strength of God, I can bring Him glory. And He shows me that the silence is a gift from Him that my flesh wants to drown out. But once I stop filling my head with garbage, which points toward the meaningless, and I listen to the silence, out of which comes His still small voice, I am pointed back toward the meaningful. Even when I am alone, I can bring Him glory. I sing His name, and offer my voice as a peace offering. My life is a love letter to Him, just as His Son’s was to me. 

“If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.” 1 Peter 4:11

“So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the Name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” Colossians 3:17

These Hands

She senses it.

Her fingertips brush absentmindedly against her arm, tickling every blond hair.

Her fingernails itch where the tips have stirred; it sinks deep beneath the surface. 

She pinches her ear, listening. 

Her fingers drum the table. 

Her hand supports her head, growing increasingly tired. 

She feels tingles go up her spine, until it reaches her thoughts. 

Her index finger begins to scratch her neck until it burns red; blood begins to trickle. 

Her other fingers join. 

She hears the protein of the nails claw against the fibers of her being.

.

Her hands creep.

She traces memories with her pinky across her palm.

She remembers each sensation.

Her fingers intertwine with each other. 

She grips a pencil too hard and draws what she doesn’t understand.

She smudges dark graphite across the white surface of the paper.

Her hand is stained permanently. 

She watches the blood fall on the paper, wondering, then remembering.

She holds her neck with her whole palm, soothing some.

Her grip tightens as pain increases. 

Curiousity

He had watched from the other side for years. He saw the shadows, the mysterious creatures darting from here to there. And he’d always been curious as to what lay beyond the bridge. He had seen people cross it before. They’d go over on a dare, or on a whim, always with an air of confidence, but none were ever seen again. They always left; they never returned.

Stories circulated regarding what exactly was over there. Some people said it was a utopia, the likes of which had never been seen before, so perfect you need never leave. Others warned of ghosts and of demons that entrapped the soul, stealing it away and hiding it for all eternity. There were stories of unimaginable horrors, as well as of joys unparalleled. The fairy tales trolled around the village, doing little to indicate the truth, but much to encourage intrigue and gossip. And, though, try as he might to pay them no heed, he often found himself wandering to the edge of the town, just near enough the river to watch the shadows dancing. 

One day, when he’d finished work early - he usually worked until two in the morning, but tonight he finished just before midnight - and had every intention of going straight home and getting some much needed rest, he instead found himself standing by the bridge, hardly aware of how he got there. The air was brisk, and it swirled around him. The night was clear. All the lights in town were out. Everyone was asleep. As he stood there, he wondered what he was doing. He saw no shadows, no movements; all was still, save only the breeze. His thoughts were stilled, and his heartbeat quieted; he stood silently in the night. He heard nothing but the gentle whispers of the air. Was he imagining it? The air seemed to be faintly circulating toward the bridge, as if a door had been opened, drawing him forward. The soft current swept around him, dancing almost imperceptibly toward the other side, stirring his already bubbling curiosity. The wind rustled through the trees and through his hair, giggling and tickling the grass, hopping over the water, and twirling through the forest beyond the bridge. 

As if in a trance, he found himself taking slow, steady steps forward. The distance from him to the bridge was ever lessening, and his senses seemed to both dull and sharpen simultaneously. At last, he reached the place where the dirt path kissed the wooden boards of that forbidden fruit; he continued walking calmly toward the other side. And when he crossed the bridge, the phantoms came to meet him. 

Hosea 6:1

I have allowed my heart to be carved. I, at one time, surrendered it. I gave it to my Love. It was dirty; it was perverted; it was hard; He wanted it nonetheless. I didn’t want it anymore, so I gave it to Him. And He, in return, gave me His. But then He hid mine. He told me He was keeping it safe, but I couldn’t see it anymore. I became scared. I couldn’t be sure what He was doing with it. And now I had this new heart inside me, and it was unfamiliar. It beat so fervently and powerfully! I was used to the dull, muffled thump of my own heart, buried beneath the thick callouses I’d worked so idly to produce. My chest hurt as His heart thudded against my rib cage. It pumped blood I’d never known through my body. My eyes saw differently, my fingers felt what they’d not felt before. I was overwhelmed. I was not the person I once was. I didn’t know who I was. I longed for the comfort of the familiar. I ran to Him begging for my heart back. I held up His own, pleading for Him to take it, but He refused. He promised that mine was safe, and He treasured it. He told me He’d been waiting to give me His heart for so long! I didn’t listen to Him. I was too furious. After all, it was my heart. He’d stolen it! (“You gave it to me, remember?”) I wanted to have it back with me. I needed it back. But He was too strong - too stubborn. He kept saying He loved my heart. But I knew that was just a way to keep it selfishly for Himself. I wanted to do what I wanted to do with it. I saw that it was hopeless. I would never get it back. I had given it freely to Him. It was fair. I trembled with senseless rage. I felt stupid at giving it away so easily. I acted out. I took the heart He’d given to me, and invited the knives that would so easily carve it up. I became divided. I gave a piece of it here, and a piece of it there. I’m not sure what I was thinking, but in some way, I guess I believed that this would get back at Him, this would get Him to give my heart back. Instead, it left me scarred. The heart that once beat too loudly had quieted, because there was so little of it left. My chest had stopped hurting. Now it just felt empty. When He gave me His heart, it became my heart. And I’ve given it away. In my irrationality, I now guard this fraction I have left. I see myself doing the same thing I did to my other heart. I want it to become hardened and calloused and protected. I want to hide it away, and never let anyone see it again. 

As I sit here, cradling this pathetic lump of a heart in my arms, weeping over it, I hear a voice whispering in my ear. He tells me He can heal me. He tells me He can restore me. He knows I’m scared. He knows I’m scarred, but He can heal me. He tells me His love is enough. This was His plan from the beginning. He picks me up and cradles me in His arms. I am pathetic, but He loves me. I have disgraced His gift, but His love is gracious. I feel His warmth so strongly around me, I begin to weep. I barely utter “I’m sorry,” before He holds even tighter and says “I forgave you. Before you even said it, before you even felt it, I forgave you. I gave you this heart as a promise. I have your heart, and you have Mine. The blood that flows through your veins is Mine. It has permeated every inch of your body. The ribs protecting it are mine. I allowed this heart to be carved, because that is what I wanted. I gave you this heart so you can give it away. I will continue to give to you. You will never be without. Do not fear, my love, I am with you. Your heart is safe. It is my most prized possession, and I will never let it come to harm. I am cleaning it, and fixing it. I know you still feel it. So feel it. Feel my blood washing it. Feel me softening it. Feel me healing it. Do not fear. Do not fear. I am with you. I forgave you. I love you.” 

Matthew 11:28

Like a whore, I expose myself to every person I meet. I let them see me as no one should, longing that they find beauty. I give myself to them, wishing just once they would give themselves back. But they use me. They see me. They find me dirty and they leave me. I am dirty. I desperately cling to life like dead leaf clings to its branch. But the wind is coming. I hear it howling, threatening to blow me away. No amount of roots I put down will keep me stable. The branch doesn’t want me anymore. It yearns to be rid of me, shake me from its arms and start anew. As if I’m blind, I fling myself in every direction; I hope I can find just one thing to hold onto. My hands cling to anything within reach, but I’m pulled apart. My grip is loosened; I grow tired. I’m forced to let go. I am trying to fly. I jump and jump, but I always fall. I’m trying to touch the clouds. They look so soft and safe. But I cannot reach them. I want to escape the ground and be somewhere else. I run like a chicken without its head. I bump into walls and kiss them. I trip over stones and fall in love with them. I fall in the dirt, and willingly pour out my blood for it. I had the map, but have since thrown it away. I am now looking for the road long forgotten. I crave direction, but don’t know how to find it. I have an aversion to the signs. Every time I see them, I turn away. I listened to the guidance of every person I met in my wandering, and have been running in circles. I am sick. I hear voices in my head who seduce me. My mind is infected. I am doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. Why won’t I see a doctor? Every time I hear your voice I refuse to listen. I am talking with my ears covered, unable to even hear myself. I bathe in the vibrations my voice makes and I throw up lie after lie after lie. Then I smile and eat my own vomit. I am alive, but I keep trying to bury myself, as if safety lies in utter darkness, and total solidarity. Even if I’m in the ground, I haven’t found where I belong. Coffins are for corpses. I am alive. I’m alive! I’m alive, but I’m blind. I plucked out my eyes. I’m alive but I’m deaf. I poured bleach in my ears. I’m alive, but I’m mute. I cut out my tongue. I have run, and grown weary. I am aimless. I’ll try something new. I’ll try one last thing. Instead of running without seeing, or screaming without listening, I will wait and hope. I will hope that you come. And when you do, I will hope that you will love me and give me life. I will wait patiently. I will not move until you tell me to. I will know your voice when I hear it, because you will have restored my hearing. I will know your face when I see it, because you will have restored my sight. I will speak your love when I understand it, because you will have restored my voice. You are the only hope I have, my last hope. I am tired; I need rest. You promised. 

“And died in the darkness there…”

.

Sitting in her room at night the shadows would surround her.

Stirring up her heart inside, and trying to confound her.

She didn’t know how long they lurked in corners ‘fore deciding,

that now’s the time to show their face, at last come out of hiding.

 .

She tried to turn on all the lights in hopes that they would flee

but each light she turned would cast a shadow far more dastardly.

Hiding under all her covers, closed doors and under desks,

she would find each place of solace much darker than the next.

 .

Running from foreboding blackness became her every thought.

Thinking that the race she ran was a battle ‘ready fought,

she realized her time had come to fight them on her own

but with a weapon she did not have, nor one she’d ever known.

 .

She felt her heart sink deep within as she turned around, beholding,

the darkness lurking in her mind grew ever more controlling.

Every light she wanted now, she found, was going out, 

leaving nothing but a shell, benumbed by fear and doubt.

.

Closing in, the shadows came, and blinded her green eyes. 

Seeing that there was no hope, she accepted her demise.

She cried aloud, but no one heard through fog so thick as this.

Muffled screams of agony, as she felt the phantom kiss.

.