On The Cusp

For years I was a closed book, lying on a shelf gathering dust and regret. My pages were tinged with poison; dare to leaf through them and you would have been contaminated with my anger and grief. So I hid my pain, burying it deep down a well wherein I dwelled. For I was unwell, enduring a daily hell where I was suckled by demons dispatched from my past to distort my present. I was off kilter, adrift, unhinged.

The hinges are back are the door now. I was healed by a man from ancient times who worked with wood. He would have known a bit about making doors. Wood was his life and his Word became my life. A wooden construction killed him in the end. Yet wood could not destroy him just as Roman steel and Palestinian rock could not contain him. He walked free just as I also would from intrusive thinking and addictive behaviour. I am free to be be.

I am an open book now. I pour myself out onto the pages of this blog. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I see, I believe, I breathe. By helping myself I seek to help others who are stumbling along similar paths. I am purged from the urge to hit the self destruct button as I did in days gone by. Days of shame and sin, self loathing and pain: where I lashed out at those who loved me most and deserved it least.

I have been saved from an early grave. Therefore why do I still doubt? I sought and found the truth, the door is unlocked and open. Yet why do I hesitate from walking through it, why do I find myself turning my back on it and walking away? Have people damaged me that much? That I have succumbed to the humdrum numbness of hypocrisy and indifference. The inane laughter and empty words of so called pillars of society.

Why do I care that they do not care? I stand on the edge of the forest now. I can see the wood for the trees. I see them for what they are and for what they were turning me into. I walked away from them but I do not want to walk away from Him. I lurched from church to church but He was waiting patiently beside me all along. I only need take that step. Not towards their doors but through His door. Silently and without fanfare. For this is a private performance on my part.

Thoughts become words and words become actions. Actions write my story. Just as I lift my foot to take that step He lifts a pen to write my story. It is not one of glory for it has been gory, a story of fear and failure. Yet still I stand poised to take that step. Not through the doors of a church for I desire not the false smiles and fake bon homie of people I barely know. People who have no desire to know me beyond ninety minutes on a Sunday. Routine. Rota. Religion. Ruin.

They are Christians. He was not. They are not the way. He was and is. I do not need them yet I need Him. And all the more incredible, he still desires to know me. Broken, discarded me. When everyone else walked away and shut their doors he flung his wide open and welcomed me inside. I stand on the other side. Hesitant, suspicious. When I walk now I do so with a limp. I leave in my wake a trail of tears. My wisdom has been won at a price.

I am an open book and this is today’s page. I sweat these words out of me like a runner sweats as he churns out the miles. It is a painful purity yet I know no other way. To run is to suffer as is to write. Yet I still do both. For I know no other way anymore nor do I wish to. This is the path I have chosen today. Will I choose it tomorrow? I do not know. For all I know is here and now. Staring at a page. Standing at a door. On the cusp.

35 thoughts on “On The Cusp

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  1. Open and honest. However, being a church greeter, people have walked into the church h who won’t look me in the eye, arrive late after the service has already started, scurry by and I literally have to run after them to ask if they’re new and try to direct them to where they’d like to go. And then they wonder why no one spoke with them. Also, everyone is at a different point in life. For instance, for several months this year I was going to the hospital multiple times a week visiting elderly friends and would not have time for a new friendship during that time. Are you as hard on nonbelievers?

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  2. Beautifully written. Your story is not one of fear and failure, it is one of pure strength. It is a story of winning despite the odds. Your book, your blog, your running, the enormous changes you had to make from, yes, what COULD have been a story of fear and failure, but it is not, because the page was turned, a new chapter begun and your story is now one of success, and gives those of us who read it, joy, hope and a tremendous pride in you. Katie

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  3. Well done!! Well said!! Man and culture has changed what is church today. Maybe small intimate groups at home would be a way to meet the needs of more people today. That is how the early church started. They were not “organized” and “religified” (my word) — the met together to share testimony and goods, proclaiming the good news of the resurrection. Look how far churches have pulled away from that.

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  4. Beautiful and powerful. Keep sweating and pushing! In writing this you are not only giving voice to your soul but also shaping the unspoken yearnings of many (most) of your readers. Your gift is a blessing to many. Thank you for offering it freely.

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  5. Your words reminded me of this verse of scripture. It can be so easy for our own thoughts to drown out everything else and not hear Jesus knocking, asking us to let him in. The Physician who still makes house calls.
    “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”
    Revelation 3:20 NIV
    https://bible.com/bible/111/rev.3.20.NIV

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      1. Because whenever I think of doors and Jesus in the same thought that is the image and verse that comes to my mind. I grew up being taught that Jesus was always there for us, He’s just waiting for us to open the door to him, because he’ll never force his way in on us, we have to choose him. That’s how I’ve always thought of it. But I liked your imagery of him opening the door at a time of desperate need and I think he does that too sometimes.
        It has been said that a song of the heart is a prayer, and I know a hymn that says, “Jesus, listening, can hear the songs I cannot sing.” I think those are the prayers where he seems to open the door for us. And I thank heaven for all those times when my need has felt so desperate that I didn’t even know what to pray for.

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