Note: this isn't poetry and might do better in my normal blog, but I feel compelled to put it here instead. maybe one day it will make it to my normal blog....
I feel alone, abandoned, and unloved… I need an escape. I want to do things I know I shouldn’t. I don’t want to talk about it, I want to run from it. I have always dealt with these feeling so negatively. I don’t know how much longer it will be before I break. I am not strong enough. I need more than clichés to make me feel better. I need ppl that really care. by all means, pray for me, but don’t through Christian clichés in my face and think they are going to do me any good. I know all the book answers. I know what to tell ppl when they feel like this. the one thing I don’t know is how to make all those words help. I don’t think you can do that. I think ppl just need to be held. I know I need someone to cry with. I need someone that isn’t going to tell me I just need more faith. those words mean nothing right now. those words seem belittling and pious at best! I need real compassion, not just a façade. I need real ppl being real about their struggles and questions, not a bunch of talking heads.
I feel alone, abandoned, and unloved… I need an escape. I want to do things I know I shouldn’t. I don’t want to talk about it, I want to run from it. I have always dealt with these feeling so negatively. I don’t know how much longer it will be before I break. I am not strong enough. I need more than clichés to make me feel better. I need ppl that really care. by all means, pray for me, but don’t through Christian clichés in my face and think they are going to do me any good. I know all the book answers. I know what to tell ppl when they feel like this. the one thing I don’t know is how to make all those words help. I don’t think you can do that. I think ppl just need to be held. I know I need someone to cry with. I need someone that isn’t going to tell me I just need more faith. those words mean nothing right now. those words seem belittling and pious at best! I need real compassion, not just a façade. I need real ppl being real about their struggles and questions, not a bunch of talking heads.
posted by mistic_mommy at 8:08 PM
2 Comments:
Lisa,
I heard a story once. It goes like this:
One day a little boy asked his mom if he could ride his bike when he got home from school. His mom said he could as long as he was home before it got dark. The boy estatically climbed on his bike and took off.
A little while later, the mother began to prepare dinner. She peeled potatoes and began to heat the oven. She looked out the kitchen window and glanced at the sun beginning to set. She expected her son home any second.
As she set the table, the sky was a blood red as the sun was sinking below the mountains in the distance. The front door opened and closed, and the woman breathed a sigh of relief that her son was home on time. However, she was greeted by a kiss from her husband who managed to leave work a little bit early.
Getting more and more panicked by the moment, the mother cast a final glance out the window for a glimpse of her son. The oven timer sounded that dinner was ready, but it could not compete with the alarm in the mother's heart. She and her husband grabbed their jackets. Just as the woman reached for her car keys, the front door opened, and in walked the little boy.
Anger and relief flooded through the woman, but relief won out. As tears streamed from her eyes, she covered her son with kisses and exclaimed, "Honey, where were you? Your father and I were so worried..." and she burst into tears of joy.
"Well, Mom, I'm sorry I didn't get home on time, but there was something important I had to do," the boy explained.
"What could be so important that you caused your Mom and me to worry so much?" the father asked irritably. This outburst was the last thing he needed after the day he had at work.
"I was out riding my bike, Dad, and I was having a good time. I rode over to Billy's house, but he couldn't come to ride his bike with me because he had too much homework. I went to the park, and on my way back home, I saw a boy sitting on the sidewalk with a broken bike. He was crying. I stopped my bike, and thought I could help me."
"But, honey," the mom said with a smile, "You don't know how to fix bikes! What did you do?"
"Mom, I took a look at his bike, and I don't think it can be fixed. He just got it for his birthday and all, so he was really sad because he crashed it into a tree by accident."
"Yes, yes," the father said being drawn into the story, "But what did you do?"
"I did the only thing I could do. I sat on the curb next to the boy and I cried with him," the boy said finally.
***
It illustrates what you're saying here, Lisa. Shut up and just sit with the person and cry. I heard the story once and rewrote it here, but I hope that I and everyone else can be like the little boy, even if it makes us "late".
Love you so much!
Amy
:/
Just sittin' here on this curb.
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