April Stephenson
Member
I am a perfect glass window, airtight and clear. There are no scrapes or chips visible. I am transparent, you can see right through me to the other side.
This flawless glass window, that was and is my life, is now shattered. I have sharp uneven edges cutting anyone who comes close to me.
My father left me; he left a hole in my heart that is un-repairable for all but God. I will never be what I was, and never feel what I felt ever again.
I now have scrapes and dirt on my window visible for all to see. Except now, it isn’t a window; it’s tiny pieces that represent my heart.
Crying. A word that felt so distant only a few short months ago is now my life.
These people see me and stare. But they don’t understand; they didn’t go through the hell I did. They didn’t have to watch while their father died. He died, and I watched. Saving him would be the death of me, for I am with God, and he is the devil. We were so close at one point, like God and Lucifer, but he turned away, he chose hell over heaven. He chose to suffer for eternity and to never see or be with his family ever again.
While I am sitting here, writing, people are blatantly rambling about how terrible their parents are. But they don’t know the meaning of the word. I do. I have been there. I have been there. Sitting in the hands of the evil one, like putty he manipulated me. I was molded to what he wanted me to look like, to feel, to say. I was a dead man’s puppet; moving when he said to move; talking when he said to talk; lying when he said to lie.
I was the assassin, only my task wasn’t to kill someone else, it was to murder my soul, to tear it limb from limb. For my soul, like everyone else’s, is a book, with every page telling a story apart from the rest of humanity. Every body, moving in unison with every element surrounded by the other, is part of the master plan of humankind. No one knows what that plan is except God. The heart is a very complex organism. Every beat is another breath of air. Every ounce of blood pumped through it is another word learned, another feeling realized.
I am like snow, pure and clean. I have no infections or diseases. That snow has been trampled on by the world above, it has been reduced to filthy water.
I am now a disease, infecting anyone who takes a sip of the water I have been condensed to, possibly killing them.
The feeling that I have undergone is like walking on a frozen over lake in springtime. Absolutely beautiful in every way imaginable, you feel the smooth, slick, and dangerous ice under your rugged boots. The air, crisp and clean, clears your mind until you are at total peace with yourself and nature. The trees sway against each other, almost like they were holding one another up.
The slow steady sound of ice cracking beneath your feet, giving way to the icy sting of the water below. Suffocated. You can’t breath. The ice is piercing your skin with a paralyzing pain. You can’t move, you can’t think, you can’t breathe.
This is what has happened to me. I was dropped from the stability of the world above to the gallows below.
Now you have entered this place of solemnity, of peace, of sacredness. You can breathe in the slow tranquil air that fills your lungs with rejuvenating liquor.
Before, I was blinded by all the pain and sorrow that filled the walls surrounding me. I could not see the beauty that embellished the walls, or smell the sweetness of the carnations blooming beneath my open window during the springtime. I could not hear the sweet songs of the lullaby birds perched on a branch near the walls I saw as a prison. My eyes were closed to the beauty surrounding me.
I have escaped these walls that I only saw fit for a prison. I have run to the place that I feel most safe.
The mountain before me is peaceful, lovely, and heavenly. This is what I live for. I am no longer enclosed by these ramparts; I am no longer forced under anyone’s authority. I am free.
Everything always has a beginning; with a beginning must come an end.
For me, everything starts at the mountain: the rigid cliffs, tall evergreens, and most of all the smooth, fluffy, wonderfully pure snow covering everything in sight. You can hear the snow crunch beneath your feet; you can feel the ice, smooth as can be under the warm touch of your fingertips. Every snowflake that comes from the dark gray clouds above is unique. When you open your hands, the beautiful white sparkles slowly nestle themselves in the shallow creases of your palm, disappearing forever.
While I am in this place I am one of those small meaningless sparkles that never fail to disappear when the world turns to chaos. I slowly sink into the well known hands of my Creator, the Lord Jesus Christ.
In this place I can truly see and admire the beauty surrounding and captivating my body and soul. I do not have to worry about what’s around the next corner, or what wall is going to seize me.
I am safe and secure here; and forever I will be, for this is my true home, this is my place with Jesus at my side.
This flawless glass window, that was and is my life, is now shattered. I have sharp uneven edges cutting anyone who comes close to me.
My father left me; he left a hole in my heart that is un-repairable for all but God. I will never be what I was, and never feel what I felt ever again.
I now have scrapes and dirt on my window visible for all to see. Except now, it isn’t a window; it’s tiny pieces that represent my heart.
Crying. A word that felt so distant only a few short months ago is now my life.
These people see me and stare. But they don’t understand; they didn’t go through the hell I did. They didn’t have to watch while their father died. He died, and I watched. Saving him would be the death of me, for I am with God, and he is the devil. We were so close at one point, like God and Lucifer, but he turned away, he chose hell over heaven. He chose to suffer for eternity and to never see or be with his family ever again.
While I am sitting here, writing, people are blatantly rambling about how terrible their parents are. But they don’t know the meaning of the word. I do. I have been there. I have been there. Sitting in the hands of the evil one, like putty he manipulated me. I was molded to what he wanted me to look like, to feel, to say. I was a dead man’s puppet; moving when he said to move; talking when he said to talk; lying when he said to lie.
I was the assassin, only my task wasn’t to kill someone else, it was to murder my soul, to tear it limb from limb. For my soul, like everyone else’s, is a book, with every page telling a story apart from the rest of humanity. Every body, moving in unison with every element surrounded by the other, is part of the master plan of humankind. No one knows what that plan is except God. The heart is a very complex organism. Every beat is another breath of air. Every ounce of blood pumped through it is another word learned, another feeling realized.
I am like snow, pure and clean. I have no infections or diseases. That snow has been trampled on by the world above, it has been reduced to filthy water.
I am now a disease, infecting anyone who takes a sip of the water I have been condensed to, possibly killing them.
The feeling that I have undergone is like walking on a frozen over lake in springtime. Absolutely beautiful in every way imaginable, you feel the smooth, slick, and dangerous ice under your rugged boots. The air, crisp and clean, clears your mind until you are at total peace with yourself and nature. The trees sway against each other, almost like they were holding one another up.
The slow steady sound of ice cracking beneath your feet, giving way to the icy sting of the water below. Suffocated. You can’t breath. The ice is piercing your skin with a paralyzing pain. You can’t move, you can’t think, you can’t breathe.
This is what has happened to me. I was dropped from the stability of the world above to the gallows below.
Now you have entered this place of solemnity, of peace, of sacredness. You can breathe in the slow tranquil air that fills your lungs with rejuvenating liquor.
Before, I was blinded by all the pain and sorrow that filled the walls surrounding me. I could not see the beauty that embellished the walls, or smell the sweetness of the carnations blooming beneath my open window during the springtime. I could not hear the sweet songs of the lullaby birds perched on a branch near the walls I saw as a prison. My eyes were closed to the beauty surrounding me.
I have escaped these walls that I only saw fit for a prison. I have run to the place that I feel most safe.
The mountain before me is peaceful, lovely, and heavenly. This is what I live for. I am no longer enclosed by these ramparts; I am no longer forced under anyone’s authority. I am free.
Everything always has a beginning; with a beginning must come an end.
For me, everything starts at the mountain: the rigid cliffs, tall evergreens, and most of all the smooth, fluffy, wonderfully pure snow covering everything in sight. You can hear the snow crunch beneath your feet; you can feel the ice, smooth as can be under the warm touch of your fingertips. Every snowflake that comes from the dark gray clouds above is unique. When you open your hands, the beautiful white sparkles slowly nestle themselves in the shallow creases of your palm, disappearing forever.
While I am in this place I am one of those small meaningless sparkles that never fail to disappear when the world turns to chaos. I slowly sink into the well known hands of my Creator, the Lord Jesus Christ.
In this place I can truly see and admire the beauty surrounding and captivating my body and soul. I do not have to worry about what’s around the next corner, or what wall is going to seize me.
I am safe and secure here; and forever I will be, for this is my true home, this is my place with Jesus at my side.
