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Synthetic Cork in bottle

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Fellow Residents of Cyberspace,

 My mom is in the habit of saying that I’ve missed my calling. She claims that I would make an excellent actress. This declaration has nothing to do with any latent talent of mine, but is solely founded in my range and depth of expression. I have a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve, but the irony is that the flicker of emotion that others see scarcely scratches the surface of the layers of pain hidden underneath.

Instinct warns me to hide within myself and stopper my feelings. To repress and restrain the true weight of my emotions. My inclination to do just that stems not from a fear of being perceived as weak – I am weak. This impulse is born of the reaction of others. The raw honesty of my pain sends most running for the hills. They don their kid gloves and handle me as if I’m broken. The fruit of their concern leaves me more depressed and numb than ever.

What I failed to realize was that it is not so much what I say but the force and ferocity with which I say it that elicits this reaction. The sheer volume of bottled sentiments insures the inevitability of an emotional explosion. At a certain point maximum capacity is reached and a torrent of unresolved emotional baggage is unleashed. I should have a label stamped upon my forehead which reads: Contents under pressure.

To prevent these emotional outbursts in the future, I turn to the comfort of pen and ink. Each and every stoke offers release from the poison within me, setting free my emotions. Writing allows me to gain objectivity and helps me stand firm when the world around me crumbles. This dance of pen on paper enables me to cast off the burdens of my heart and bask in the wine of my Savior’s love. It reminds me that God is near, ready to hear and to help. Writing has become my sanctuary, my safe harbor in the darkest of storms.

There is beauty in even the grimmest honesty. Formulating my thoughts in ink allows me an avenue of openness and candor that exists nowhere else. What started as a simple process of personal healing has, through God’s abundant grace, grown into a stepping stone towards restoration in the lives of others. I share my heartache with this world for no other reason than to acknowledge that those who are swallowed up by affliction and trampled by sin and sadness are not alone.

A splintered heart can be remade.

Next week I’ll share with you the self-destructive nature of my own mind.

Until Next Week,

May You Live Each Moment As If It’s Your Last,


Weekly Reflections: (Disclaimer: The great depths of my sorrow can only be justly compared to the impressive heights of my joy. If you stay tuned in long enough you’ll begin to see the silver ray of hope in even the darkest of my reflections.)

I’m Not Broken

A look once steady now betrays.

The broken pieces steal your gaze.

Concern within begins to rise.

At last you meet my deadened eyes.

I’m “fragile,” so you choose to say.

I guess there’s not a better way.

I’m stronger than you seem to think.

My armors stout, it’s just a chink.

I’ve not begun to reach my brink.

Disaster, shall we share a drink?

This life has dealt a heavy blow.

If only I could sink so low…

I’m not another plastic fake.

There’s nothing phony in my wake.

Denial like a plastered smile,

Can only stay a little while.

I deftly lie and feed you lines.

I must convince the world I’m fine.

What good does all my effort do?

Consoles for just a beat or two.

It’s very true that being fake,

Is oft the easy road to take.

All things aside, at bitter end,

It only hastens to descend.

I’ve found at last by being real,

And telling how I truly feel,

I start to heal, begin to deal,

And day by day my fate unseals.

With all that said, if you still care,

My heart, allow me all to bear.

Don’t fret but let me vent and share,

In time you will release this snare.

And inch by inch the fraying noose,

Will end its loathsome ill abuse.

My chains will break upon release.

The darkness deep within will cease.

Verse Of The Week:

18 The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.  Psalm 34:18

What I’m Reading:

Inheritance – Book Four In the Inheritance Cycle – By Christopher Paolini