I dont know you. I dont know your story. I dont know what happened in life to make you so hard and bitter and quick to insult those whose stories youve never taken the time to hear. But your insults mean nothing to me. Because you dont know me either. You dont know how I was broken, or why. You dont know the trials I had to face as I stitched my own life back together, piece by minuscule piece. All alone. And there was a time when I was putting myself back together all wrong. My eyes were also cold and hard. I also grew bitter and spiteful. I also let pain get the best of me. For a time. A short time. But that time is done. Because as I realized my error in trying to resurrect my own form, I saw that I had released areas of my life that had once destroyed me, but I had simultaneously sown in pieces that didnt belong in the process. Pieces like resentment and hatred and callous self-contempt. So once again, I saw what I had to do. I broke. This time, I broke myself. And I put myself together again as best I could, without those pieces that slowly poisoned the rest of me. I dont care what you say about me behind my back. Because Ive chosen compassion over hatred. Forgiveness over barbed self defense. Gentleness over icy, cutting, meaningless aggression. These new pieces were my choice. A choice I make everyday, anew, with the help of Him whose presence is the very seams that now secure in place all the pieces of my former wreckage. I hope you get to a point in your life where you can throw away the results of pain, as I did. I hope you get to a place where you dont need such pieces, either. Until that time, the sound of your insults affect me no more than the sound of snowflakes on glass. Sincerely, Someone who sees the look your eyes fail to hide.
Posted on: Wed, 07 Jan 2015 05:03:17 +0000
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