Broken Promises, You'll Find Him.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wish I could some this up right but I will try. If you ever felt like no matter what you do, you can't seem get to get it right, well, this is what happens when you hit the ground and bounce back. I hope you enjoy this story and send your feedbace. God Bless!

Submitted: June 26, 2013

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Submitted: June 26, 2013

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A promise…so others unwisely abused.  In other words, a promise is like projectile vomit that directly impacts the ones who love unconditionally.  To me, promises come across ignorant as they are broken before spoken.  Promises come from ones who can not see their actions as being wrong.  I do not welcome promises as I do not want an inheritance with mandated clean up like CPR performed on a multiple bullet-wounded victim.  I can tell you; my blinders are removed, replaced by a new slate.  However, the new slate requires carrying a heavy burden, later I will explain.  Today, I hang my head lower than ever before and this time it is with humbleness.  I still do not desire promises.  Why you ask, well to me promises no longer exist as anything that could do any good.  The projectile vomit, promises, I faced came from another’s moments of desperation to react as a savor.  Promises unraveled the wrong doings and create a soffit thus allows a person to break free from their own shackles but really... at who’s cost?  On the receiving end of promises, I can only explain it to another as a wrecking ball that eagerly comes full fledged with unforgivable crushing force to hit dead on.  This force instantly turns you into mayhem.  So it is no longer like sitting on the couch with soft blankie, a box of bonbons watching an enticing soap opera T.V. show.  On impact, the wrecking ball thrashes before it slams you down.  It is not over… you are barely able to do anything.  You turn in slow motion, turn from one side over to the other as if to wake up from a night terror soaked in sweat.  Your eyes twitch and strain to open and see.  With minutes then hours passing by, your struggle to see is now over.  Your only sight is of glimpse of blur.  You are unable to comprehend the wounds inflicted but do you see, I am there with you right by your side.  I do feel what you feel but unlike you, I can see clearly.  My sight is of a perfect picture embedded by blood red stream that surrounds you, oh, what a mess what was a beautiful image.  Will I ever tell you, no...I will never tell you that.  I won't, as I can not.  You do not know but my lips a sown by another.  Speechless as a thick black thread seals my lips, I hurt in trying and will bleed to speak, I am so sorry for you.  All I can think about is what become of you?  Who is to clean all this sh*t up?  Of course…it will be you.  Will you, or even I, ever recover or heal the wounds we shared?  Who would, after playing maid with no supplies, be expected to clean up such a mess?  Between you and me, I would have picked the easiest option so I thought.  The option I took was to cover up in hurt.  I had expected others, whom were not there and I knew it, to give unconditional love to comfort me.  I can tell you embarrassing hurt lead to a dark destination and heeds to the destruction of skin.  Innocence stripped and sliced from you in return.  The gift in return ends with visible scares never to be healed.  The scares depicted liked a razor pressed hard without forgiveness into your skin as if forced by another and you have no control of it.  The razor knows no dept and it digs furiously to find you.  Your wounds will weep; as mine have.  I do know never underestimate anyone’s pain as it must be felt.  Life does not exist without feeling; this hurt or suffering from the clean up has to exist to be alive.  I recognized there must be something greater out there other then fear.  The greater meant more then what is present in life.  It came to me in the dark moment; I needed a pure connection to stop the hurt.  The time came; it was to find faith, to believe in the something greater.  I had no idea what that even meant other then to have comforted and be okay with who I was.  I learned that we are made in the image of God, which might seem so insignificant but it is not.The concept of believing is what pulled me in.  It was Christ.  In his name, sufferings for wrong doings and my poor decisions have been accounted for.  Christ being as he is was persecuted by others.  I could relate to the emanate destination as I perceived those untrue promises as such -this is my experience-.  My heart endears with him, he bled slowly opposing gravity nailed through his wrist up upon a cross, he hung day into night with an unforgiving hurt.  Thorns pierced into his head without retreat.  The blood glistened from his forehead as the thorns were thriving in his existence.  The blood of Christ seen raised by thorns weep unto his face as he bowed his head in exhaustion, his blood found one with the ground.  His wounds were exposed to all to see but do we really understand?  The penetration of hate from ridged thorns the untrue promises bares his wounds and reveals his blood.  Jesus’ human armor spoke to me; I can remember envisioning the yielding moments before the loosing battle so very real.  The unbearable pain Jesus endured, yet how did he embrace himself to suffer for us, can you see this, I have?  Only few, who take time and are ready to hear his words, through writings, could possible, understand as our eyes must be opened, and requires carrying the heavy burden and yes, that is what I meant at the beginning of this story, I carry this burden that many can not relate too.The heavy burden to take within is required of believers; this means to see and take in what others can not and have the ability to forgive with an unheard understand.  I can attest there is no returning with blinders once used as a cover to hide.  My faith did not just happen.  I asked for Christ in my life.  I begged because there was no one else present.  When I decided to expose who I was emotionally and allowed my true self to exist, he answered me.  I made the choice not to conceal who I was anymore, why lie as it almost became impossible to see my reflection in a mirror.  I recall back in 2007, it was the beginning Jan.  I hit absolute ground zero, I had no where else to go and there were no mirrors to see my image anymore.  I was on empty, no gas stations in sight, no where to refill and with no money in hand, as if that really matters.  The last of who I was has been drained from me; I dropped with all my weight down with a crushing force on my knees.  I began to pray.  My answer came not in prayer but with honesty and the desire to know Christ.  As I grew in his teachings, I began to relate to the experience of Christ.  Everything I absorbed from this moment forward morphed slowly. I remember each night, I would pray each night before bed layered in tears pleading for relief.  Later in January, 2007, in solace of prayer, I placed my head down into my hands shivering with my elbows tucked into the covers of my bed.  I had envisioned the crucifixion, not by choice, of Christ.  What I images that flashed, I would never wish on anyone.  I remember seeing images of people dressed with cover, in loud vaguer voice cheering.  The voices distorted but I could feel the intensity increase with hatred.  I heard "Make Him Pay", the words were not of convert but it was the underlying force and volume given for his death to come and Christ to suffer as he betrayed them.  The crowd was so eager to see suffering and demanded pain to be inflicted upon him only by blood.  To somehow watch in my mind such a brutal action and see others want this event to tale place for a sense of satisfaction or so called settlement. I call it sickly and beyond being human to call for such.  With these images and feelings that came over me, I blurted out his name, J E S U S, an involuntary reaction, it just happened.  The tone I spoke, it was pure agony soaked full of his sorrow wrapped to me.  I could see myself founded in wounds beginning right next to him.  I could see he was telling me it was going to be all right, when all while it was him suffering in my name.  God, how could I be okay being like this?  I remember putting out my arms to try and reach out but gave way as if my bones just suddenly disappeared and I lost him.  I lifted my head then my arms fell onto the bed.  I had felt an overwhelming sensation of hurt.  The hurt seemed to find each nerve and continued as if to seek to kill the next one.  I never did ask for such hurt nor did I expect to encounter his pain in believing.   I would never but it happening to me.  The pain would not stop, it slashed at me; I wanted all of this to stop.  I was incapacitated by hurt and it hurt so badly and it would not end.  I could not even pray as my mind was surged by the constant triggers of pain.  I all I wanted was for it all be over… why could I not turn over to wake up.  In the darkness of all this, I screamed out, “STOP, JUST STOP”, shattered by pain.  Silence... it finally came, it was suddenly calm.  My body became limp.  The pain began to subside.  It was that, just what I had asked.  It was rest that found me, and he, Christ, gave it to me by grace.  I guess I was blind; all I had to do was ask to find.  I was never accustomed too.  I was never use to asking for anything, yet I did this time, and he answered me.

What it took was for me to understand how to ask for help.  I respect everything happens in his time.  I was provided with his forgiveness so I could wake.  When this moment arrived, my tears came not from fear but from being saved.  The moment of being saving, I cried in tears.  Tears followed down my face never loosing touch of my skin and rolled over my cheeks trailing under my chin to my neck absorbing into my shirt.  It was then; I felt his comfort and absolute unconditional love for me.  I was finally released to be given a new slate.  To get here, takes everything you have within you and so much more.  You think you can not endure or feel as a human, but you can if you desire.  Please do not get me wrong, I am not naïveté.  With my experience, I understand why it is hard for people to find Christ.


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