It all occurs in slow motion. As though it is unreal, yet stronger than my senses. Each thought is a new blade, that opens new wounds with each slash through the abdomen of my imagination. “Breathe Matt! It’s Christmas morning for God’s sake.” I whisper. I place my hands instinctively on my stomach as if I believe I can hold everything in. But it is too late. I am spilling out, bleeding all over the this beautiful Mozambican field. I am doubled over begging for it to stop. I am beside myself. I am beginning to wonder what it feels like before you die. The air around me is a million hands forcing me to my knees. There my legs are stung by angry insects. “Please not this. Please no.” I plead at the clouds. They say nothing in return. I stand as my chest trembles in its attempt for air.
This Race has a cost.
See, I had this dream, that I might could be more than myself. That maybe just maybe I could be some one worth being around, and somebody worth being with. Maybe I wouldn't always be selfish. Maybe I wouldn’t always manipulate. I had these deep fears that maybe I would become all the things I hated. That maybe I wasn’t capable of the things I wanted to be, that maybe I wasn’t capable of real love. But in my heart I hoped. I hoped that maybe Jesus could do something really great in me. I still see the faces of those who fell victim to my fears. Who believed that it was them who was flawed, when the cage was something I put on myself. I regret that deeply.
Somewhere in a remote, beautiful field, deep in the heart of Mozambique you will find the handiwork of Christ. Just above a small ditch overlooking a pristine view, while the sun rises slightly over the rain clouds, there you will find it. Hidden to the outward eye, there is a pile of what used to be inside of me. Fear, rejection, I no longer need.
I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for the intensity of the pain. The gutting and ripping that came to me.
Things are apprehended in the spirit before they are seen and experienced in the physical. Before you can love, you must submit to love. You must allow it to break you. Before you can be a man of integrity you must submit to integrity and be broken by it.
Love starts now. Integrity starts now.
Dear God,
This week I was so very tempted to take my paintbrush back. It was hard to trust when I was hurting so bad. I wanted to take my brush and try to fix it. I wanted to try and make it stop. But that’s what I suppose I have been doing all along. So keep it. Everything I want is safer in your hands anyways. I trust you…I really do. You’re asking me to be a man of Integrity, and Love. I say Absolutely. Thank you…thank you…thank you…and after that….thank you.
Gratefully
Matt
