Secret Life: An Introduction

Two decades should be long enough to know someone, at least a little bit.
Two decades should qualify as long-suffering enough, too.

I am not sure if I’ve ‘run a good race’ or ‘fought a good fight’
I only know I am tired of running and fighting.

A finish line - one drawn in shifting sands- has been crossed.
There are no winners here.

Dim hope; miraculous restoration.
Of course, but oh-so-very dim.

We tried it already, I went all in.
You call it your biggest mistake, I’m not sure it will stick again.

Remember that post-it note analogy?
That was a fair and accurate warning.

For a long, long time - too long, my dear-  I’ve been living by this law you wrote:
Prove me wrong, or I’m right.

Withheld pearls makes for suspicious swine.
But I am trampled every time.

“You live a secret, double life.
You’re a fraud.
 No longer my wife.”

As you wish.

Today, I repent my my intentional duplicity, lay down my brush for silver lining .
You be you, no gloss added.

The windows and doors are open, I’ll not close them.
It is far too nice out there.

Creature Preacher

Sometimes that Sunday Morning sermon releases homing pigeons...

I put this clip here a handful of Sundays ago as a placeholder, for it contained an exact quote from someone very close to me - one might even say, part of me - and I hadn’t known what to do with that conversation.

Now, I think I do. 

The Grinch At The End of This Story

Once upon a time, someone I know was having a very bad day. In fact, it had been a rotten week, and a rotten month, and come to think of it, when had anything ever really been a good at all?! He couldn’t remember. And so, because holidays can illuminate our prickly branches, and because the opportunity was sitting right there amongst the branches like a shiny wrapped present for the taking, my friend threw the Christmas tree, who for the record, was not being much help, down a flight of stairs.

Throwing the tree, stubborn as it was, didn’t fix anything, in fact, it broke more things, including the fragile ornaments shaped like children’s hearts, but for all of three seconds, my friend was focused on something other than his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad life. 

For the rest of the season however, he was secretly known as The Grinch. 

What can one say? 

CindyLoo Who calls it like she sees it. 

She hasn’t learned nuance, yet. 

But they are only alike to a point.
In the end, the heart of the Grinch grew.
He was a totally changed Who. 

In the case of my tree-tossing friend, he simply hasn't come to the end of himself... yet.