She died to live by a set of rules.
She remembered her mother and how she would exhibit delight as she sat and rested her eyes in the early morning quietness. Peace and contentment ruled her demeanor, even on days when no one told her how nice her hair looked. But that was Momma, always radiant and never ashamed. Oh, how she missed her and the life of her spirit.
The new pace of the city and the busyness she would grow to detest were her newest companions, despite their tendency to betray the damage she tried to keep secret. She lived an exhausting and absurdly self-centered life, doing all she could to collect hi-fives and nods of approval. Her means were crooked and pretentious but justified by her idea of survival. Strategizing by day and editing by night, she devised schemes to peek into the minds of others in hopes of catching a glimpse of happiness through their eyes.
Their words were nice, when they were nice. And when they weren’t, she would not rest until she was tired of not knowing why. So she did all she could for the sweet words, and even used deceit to obtain her daily bread that would become like gravel in her mouth, threatening to choke her body and soul.
After a hard day’s work, she received, at best, a couple instant and passing pats on the back. Even the art of “smiling with your eyes” she failed to master, and one more question about if she was feeling okay or if the lights were too bright was reason enough to give up the practice altogether.
After years and tears spent on this endless endeavor, she found herself filled with hollow disappointment. She wanted a greater reward than this. She wanted to hear something that would make her smile from the inside out and light up her entire being.
“...like Momma did.”
Looking to the hills, she sat in the silence and cried out from her darkness until daybreak.
She died to living by a set of rules.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,
A broken and contrite heart -
These, O God, You will not despise.
Psalm 51:17
No comments:
Post a Comment