It cracks. Slowly,
piece by piece, fraction by fraction. Everything falls down, and
there’s only the truth left to face. Tears stream down, and the
throat aches from the effort to hold them back. A stern, harsh voice
cuts through every defense thrown up, not understanding anything yet
understanding everything. It all collides at once:
misunderstanding…pride…perfectionism…failure. Excuses
are hurled as fast as it’s all being crushed, attempting to flee
from something that’s deeply, deeply engrained.
He doesn’t
understand and he’s so, so wrong. He cannot read me and he has not
the foggiest idea of what I’m thinking. Yet, what he’s saying
could not be truer. Every sentence, phrase and word. Thoughts whirl
so quickly I just stand there and sob, my gaze half glaring and half
pleading. Glaring because I’m angry and in pain. Pleading because I
desperately want so much more.
But stubbornly it
holds it’s ground. It refuses to let it be known that there’s
another desire, growing strong and dangerous from within. It cannot
give way now, or else it will lose. Everything. Once it takes one
step backward it’s a slippery slope that cannot be re-tread. The
glare will remain, though perhaps in the subconscious. Though there
be another desire screaming from within, it holds at least the
outside wall still. The part that can be seen, read, and interpreted.
And as much as it’s undesirable, even the outer wall is still a
part of the structure. Holding on with every ounce of sickly strength
that it posses it manages to remain.
He doesn’t
understand one part, the part that is deep and effectively buried.
But the other part, the outer wall, he understands and sees clearly.
That’s all that’s visible as I stare at him through my
tear-filled, aching eyes. It’s all there: rage, helplessness,
broken pride, conviction, pain, regret, and scars all flashing across
my face. And indeed, he sees correctly and clearly…as clearly as he
can through the impenetrable fog. And he sees the grotesque.
For years it’s
held. For years it’s caused the same problems, the same pain, and
the same consequences. Though it’s been brutally confronted
numerous times, it’s rooted far too deep. Every effort has ended
with a bruised and bleeding attacker, helpless to continue and
slipping agonizingly into the grip of death. Each time leads to utter
failure, and each time the effort is slowly squeezed to death.
His harsh words cut
deep, but still they fail to fell the wall. My bottom lip quivers
uncontrollably and my eyes burn as I seek to see through the thick
haze of tears, receiving everything he hurtles at me. Somehow the
words make it through, though to the onlooker it seems as if they’re
deflected as soon as they’re released. I try so desperately to
fight. There’s a battle waging within unlike any that has ever
taken place before. Internally I’m a raging furnace, heated to a
degree beyond coherence and comprehension. And it all happens in
split seconds.
It pounds its
stakes deep, driving them into the very flesh of the soul. Seeking to
mortally wound everything that offers resistance it spreads it’s
harsh darkness over every part. Well it understands what’s
occurring, and well it knows how desperate the time is. But it knows
this, too. It knows fully, and with an appalling glee, that it has
nothing to fear…as long as the battle against it is waged with
human strength. And that human strength must be kept gasping for life
just enough for it to continue to struggle on it’s own.
He gazes at me with
harsh eyes. I stare back, through a face of brick but from a crushed
heart. I understand now, and suddenly I have complete composure.
Exhaustion has utterly overtaken me, like a machine that has been run
far too long and too hard. Nothing is left to feel, think, or react.
I’m broken, and in my brokenness I’m helpless. And I know it. I
recognize and acknowledge defeat, and with that acceptance there
remains not a thing. Nothing to fight for, fight against, defend,
protect, hide, cherish, or desperately cling to. I am the very
definition of failure.
It cracks.
Slowly, piece by piece, fraction by fraction. Everything falls down,
and there’s only the truth left to face. That truth? I am a
wretch. The sobbing, the lecture, the pain and the self-hate come to
one end and one realization: I have sin I cannot overcome, and there
are countless black stains hideously streaked across my heart. I
cannot flee from, hide, or ignore the facts one minute longer.
I…cannot…get…away. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, or how
much I brutally torture myself over it. I’m dead, rotting with the
stench of the sin that engulfs me. No power is in me, and not an
ounce of strength or will is present.
One hope remains.
One way out, and even that is a way that cannot be chosen. Left to
the grace of One, the knees must hit the floor in desperation. Pleas
are lifted with the little strength that remains for the grace and favor
of Him who reigns supreme. There is one weapon that can demolish the
outer wall, and indeed it is stronger and mightier than all else. As
He crushes and destroys, the brokenness and pain only becomes more
acute. The awareness that all is black and evil, and that
there is no strength to be found from within becomes unbearably sharp. In
this state, and in this state only, can He utterly destroy and begin
to rebuild.
