Failure and death=life

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.