The Silent Things That Some Can('t) Hear

I curl into myself again, done with the facade.  Done with traversing the rough terrain of my emotions, emotions that other people think I can control, but sometimes I just can't.

I feel too deep.
I think too hard.
A curse (or blessing?) since birth.

And these are the things that have chased people away, have angered loved ones, have put them to their knees begging God to whisper an answer about my poor, ragged soul.  Because people who see me happy love that light, and they want to make it shine again.

What they don't understand is that the dark places they don't want to hear about, because of the overwhelming effect, are the places that light is made.  There are silent things whispered here, and some can't bear to listen because we are all made from different fabrics.  Flammable or inflammable.  Cotton or wool or blended.  Different fabrics have different needs for cleansing, and my fabric needs the deep.

Before God motioned for light to enter, "darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters." (Genesis 1:2)

In these dark places that fold me into myself, God is hovering near.  He is always with me, silently waiting until I look up into His face, where the light shines onto me.  I become a reflection of Him.  But I have always been a stubborn one, finding what God created in the depths before coming up for air.

The best part is: since God created it all, He is with me there.  When He says, "Let there be light," it's not just to produce joy.  It shows me more clearly the things I have found in the deep.

Photo retrieved: johnnylipp.deviantart.com (chiaroscuro)

I'm not sure why I insist on taking things further than most people.  It frustrates others, puzzles them, makes them furious.  I understand the inconvenience of it because I live it.  But I am lured again and again to the place of brokenness, of desperation -- ridding myself of myself.  Because then my Lord intimately picks up the pieces of me, setting my bones, stitching my wounds.  I have to unravel my pain until the yarn is all stretched out for miles, both ends and the middle exposed.  When I am fully vulnerable, I allow Jesus into every piece of my past, present, and future.  We will never be perfect this side of heaven, and I feel no reason in pretending.  When I am weak, He is strong.

Some people are like this with pain, and we must be careful to validate it instead of minimize it, or worse, patronize the person.  For some people to heal from past and present wounds, they have to feel every bit of pain and healing.  We are blessed in this: we recognize that it is a process, and therefore we empathize with others more easily.

The pain isn't so much about us as it is about finding The Solution: Jesus.

If you are someone who feels on a deeper level, someone who dwells in the depths from time to time, I implore you to call on Jesus when it gets to be too much.  Allow Him to shine His light on you.  Allow the Father to show you grace in your pain.

It's okay to feel.  It's okay to be weak.  It's even okay to have a dark mood once in awhile.  Because the best contrast to that darkness is His light.

May there be light in your life, sweet friend.