All my scars showed up today on my skin. I covered them in makeup 'til the bottle ran dry. I don't know why it's hard for me to digest the agony that lives inside my bones, but it aches to see it all again. Reviewing the healed parts of me is like drinking flasks of tears like the wine of drunkards. Who can understand but He?
Why is loving so easy and forgiveness so hard? The balance is uneven when the weights of each are strapped to our wrists. Love—weightless. Hurt—a thousand tons. What am I to learn from this? That loving is a two-edged sword? That faith is dead, is beaten down, knocked out with each blow to the heart and each knee-slamming fall that does not end in prayer? Help, for the knives of tongues are after me, waiting for these scathing words to leave my lips—Do I believe?
The answer is internalized. It bleeds out of every pore like sweat and surrounds me with a cloud of being. This is who I am.
How unique the journey feels when we trek alone until He speaks and we know it's all been felt before. "Fear not," He says. I know you are not immune to impiety, to tragedy, to loneliness. Tears are a consequence of these, but they water your future little lamb.
So, ask again "Do I believe?" and I will show you the end and the beginning. You decide what is true, but truth is not decision. It is the purest reality untouched by fallacy.
Go, See, Discover the human things, treasures in the waiting wings of life. But remember, light and dark cannot share the same space.
So then, when you leave this place, will they know where you stand? Will you believe?
And if you won't, what then? What becomes of unbelievers hardened by experience and satisfied by scientific thought? Are they to float in a vat of fire and sin because the truth they discovered moved airplanes instead of mountains?
Surely, there is variety in all worlds, even ones we cannot see.
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