Sometimes I can’t find the words to express myself, so I try to measure the speechlessness with lots of words. That makes sense, doesn’t it? You don’t know what to say, so you puke up random sentences that don’t make sense in order to put it all together. Typical. This usually leads to my talking someone’s ear off, as I inwardly process, and outwardly puke. It’s like an input, output table. One variable is put in, affecting the constant, and making an answer. Right?
That’s me for ya. An input output table. But isn’t that us? Everyone? Everything that we go through, affects us, whether it’s good or bad. And it’s not like we have to speak to be making an output of the way we feel. Our behavior says it all, right? …or maybe it doesn’t.
Some of us have routines. A variable in our lives can either affect us in a good way, or a bad one. Usually, we won’t withhold the good variable in our lives. We are not afraid to show the joy that so embodies ourselves. But when the bad variable affects our lives, we suddenly freeze. And these routines include bottling up, masking, and holding back.
The above mentioned are dangerous. Bottling up to is hard for anyone. Even the toughest. Masking can even deceive your own self. Holding back brings more intense anger, sadness, and sometimes deep bitterness. . .whether that means against God or others.
Have you ever seen, like, car mirrors that say, “Warning: object may be closer than appears”? What if there were signs like that over our hearts? “Warning: object may be more broken than appears” or “object may be less than fine, regardless of appearance”? Because masks are just so easy to use. It’s easy to put a veil over our faces. We don’t want everyone to show them that the shine is wearing off…our joy is no more.
In fact, this joy has abruptly turned into deep hurt. The hurt has become rooted in our hearts; we turn it over and play with it for awhile. We go back and look upon the awkwardness, and recall the things that were said…the hopes, the comfortability, and eventually, the letdown.
And we see each other with our nicely-played roles, and think, “so cocky..” or “minnesota-nice?” or “attitude problem!” A wall goes up in our minds about each and every one else…of who they are, what they’ve become, and what they should be. And sirens go off with these people in our hearts, because we don’t want to get hurt. So maybe the littlest birds don’t sing the prettiest songs.
Or maybe it’s the largest, predator birds that are really the prey.
Hitler? Was affected by his rough, performance-based father…who was “an accident” of a Jewish family’s maiden.
That older gentleman down the street who isn’t that much of a gentleman? It just so happens that his wife died five years ago, and he can’t handle being alone. So he “pukes random words” to try to find the right ones for his loved ones.
Oh, and that girl in the workplace that seems so uptight…like, drama queen, to the core. Yeah, her family doesn’t accept her. They value her less than her siblings. And she’s looking for someone to tell her of her worth.
Maybe we give each other too much credit for being so put together. I believe that all of us are little birds. No matter how deep we have to dig to find that bird, I believe that there is a cage in there somewhere. We put real good faces on. But there’s so much more than meets the eye.
For if what was being brought to an end came with glory, much more will what is permanent have glory. Since we have such a hope, we are very bold, not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face so that the Israelites might not gaze at the outcome of what was being brought to an end. . . .But when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.
.II Corinthians 3:11-13, 16-18.
And so, who the Son sets free, are free indeed. The littlest caged birds sing the prettiest songs. And the free birds sing harmonies in sympathy, reaching out, and lifting up to their Maker.
