It just made sense to me as I was walking down the same path that I take everyday, hearing the same sort of side conversations: "You know when people just try to be polite but hate each other behind their backs?" And it was sad as it came from a group of people who seemed a group of grown-ups. Faculty maybe. And these kind of things flooded my thoughts. The 'backstage' of everythings that we put up. The backstage of runway shows. The backstage of strip clubs, like Heather's testimony last night. The kind of sinking, absorbing feeling you have that you fight to fall asleep. Those are the places where the real battles happen. Those are the places the real stuff forms. Or deforms. The stuff that matters, the stuff that you know, really affects you, much more than everything your day consisted of. Feeling like the outcast still, maybe more than ever, after going through and pausing after faces after faces. Knowing so well, more than anyone else, of the difference and the disparity that exists, isolates, eventually eats- from what others think you feel and what you really feel. How ridiculous that is. Avoiding someone as you are thinking to yourself, they have no idea what thoughts are running through my head, and seeing them gazing upon you is only going to make you feel more alone. The emptiness that wakes and resonates more than your body can handle when all the masks, the names, and the images have been taken off, and it's just you. That you're starting to think that this is all there is.
I'm going to keep believing that You intend to be present during these minutes and hours. That You intended to be present backstage, more present here than any other part of my day. Thank You... You are the God of the Other, the Stranger, the Outcast, the One who never quite fits. This is how You drew me to You. My backstage could be- the hole that only digs at all the wrong directions, or it could be- the very place I meet with You and allow Your hands to place each piece of Your masterpiece. And when You whisper to me, 'You belong here- You surely belong here'- and there exists no difference, disparity, gap between Your heart and mine- I can say- "You are my Shepherd, I shall not want".
I want to gaze upon Your beauty-
Crown of beauty instead of ashes;
Oil of gladness instead of mourning;
Garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair
edit: Um, I am okay. I am actually doing very well... I just started writing away and was reminded of what brokenness is... and God was being creative. Focus on the later paragraph :)
