You’ve been here before, haven’t you?
The swoon of an edge meant to flay? The pin in the wall, the staple in the gun, the dashboard lighter primed for a brand? When control escapes you and thoughts berate you, where else does the fury go but here?
But nobody really understands.
Just a tiny cut here, and maybe one over there. Soon the lines interweave, don’t they? First resistance, then rush; adrenaline beats through skin red and exposed. The relief brings a momentary peace, a manufactured calm.
But as soon as it comes, it is gone.
Yes, you know this dark passenger well — a hidden thorn in the flesh, buried deep in your loneliness. Locked away in your anger, he lies dormant until the ground starts to quake. In duress, the parasitic passenger rouses himself to destroy his suffering host. He stands tall to hiss wicked taunts. “But there’s no other way you can cope.”
So, you pull out the sharp blade, or light up the coils, or glance at the smooth razor’s edge.
“Did it hurt all that much before?” My, how quickly he helps you forget. “Yet, what of it? Just one layer deeper — finally reach where things went oh so wrong.”
But there’s Someone else calling your name.
Beloved, Lay Your Weapon Down
“Beloved, lay your weapon down, for you are not your own. You have been bought with a price.”
“Put your sword back into its place” (Matthew 26:52).
Did you hear what Jesus just said? How he knew you were walking the wire? On one side: red blood. The other: black death. How he cares if you sway either way? Traversing the mire, he seeks to redeem all he has created. He stands tall to guide wandering sheep, “I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isaiah 43:1).
