I Am In Pain - People Hurt Me - Looking Forward to Death

Leave me alone, I am in pain.

I don't need to be around people, I am in pain.

People hurt me, I am in pain.

I do not get hurt by books, by food, by clouds and rainbows. Or cats, and clothes, or trees that blow in the wind....

No,  just by those I think are friends.

People hurt me; they don't understand me.

My arms feel so heavy underneath, I know this is the first sign of overload.
My heart has a hole, pierced one to many times in life.
My eyes are filled with drops of sorrow, sadness and regret.
My mouth is tight, clenched, frozen, no words want to go.

Why am I different?
Why do I have to hurt so much, all the time, so easily, by so many....

So many days, so many people, so many ways.

When does my cup of torment forever filled up to be more than "enough"?
Is it because I so love You, God, that I am such a target of your enemy?

"But you have not endured blood sweat tears," the wise one jeers.
"God will never give you more than you can handle," says another.
"All things work for good for those who love the Lord" is the promise that we quote.

Why do some people in life get more suffering than most?
Some people get more money, others get more travel, and another gets more pleasure.
Some get more talents, another gets more intelligence and some get more pain.

How do You - God - pick out the child of Yours that needs more pain to be transformed into the likeness of Jesus? Or do you let Satan sift through those who claim to be your followers? Do you let him choose the "best"? Wouldn't it be better for him to pick those who are iffy about you... you know those pew warmers? Wouldn't they be easier to sway?

If all your children end up in heaven anyway, perfected in Your presence, why must some endure more evil to be transformed to good?

We will all be good in Your sight - in the fullness of Jesus - even, already are.... spiritually.

Why then must some people be thrown into the den of lions, another left at her captor's feet, and one lives all his days on earth in a slum? While others called Your children, float in fancy pools, and travel to the spectacular resorts in the world, and taste on the finest foods?

One child of Yours gets slapped, yelled at and put to shame,
the other is hugged, praised and awarded with acclaim.

Why? Did one receive hardship and the other given a lighter journey in life?

I don't understand the justice of this system. I know we are all different - nothing is equal or the same, but I have always rested on Your Word's of justice, truth, mercy, and grace. I never overlooked sorrow, suffering that brings sickness and insanity-- tormented by the demons, taunted by their words, ridiculed, trapped, and discarded.

One day I will be resurrected.
One day I will know joy. It is the hope within each breathe,
I walk by faith and not by sight, I believe every Word You've ever said.

Daddy, I want to come home. I want my life of hurt to end. I want to come home. I am waiting for Your call.

I praise you today, Your mercies are new each morning, but I will praise the day when I am dead,

Because I am so often in pain. The day I die I will finally be in eternal paradise with You and all my true brothers and sisters! I will be loved, appreciated, understood.

How can I not look forward to those days!

Weak and Selfish - I am That Girl

The preacher says we are all the body of Christ...that each member is necessary, a part that functions in unison with all others, but God, in this life--in our time spent on earth--in present day local churches, this is not really true.

It sounds good, repeated over and over, because the Bible says so and therefore we all should.

But churches seek the best,
the ones that fit their mold,
the ones who meet their mission,
the one that helps their goal.
They keep track of numbers,
saving all the souls,
running them through baptism,
collecting them in the fold.

But those of us with broken parts,
not shiny like the rest,
we hear what no one else hears,
we feel words with our soul,
we sense when something isn't right,
therefore we get left out in the cold.

Who wants to work with such a pain,
she is trouble where she goes,
she stirs the pot and sifts for truth,
she sees the thorns and not the rose.

Why can't she just be silent, "if you don't like it, go away," 'give a try another church," "we can't use you .... we have to protect the flock from you."

They call her weak and selfish. They don't care to know her name.

I am that girl. I know her pain.
I feel her sorry. I walk her shame.
I'll never be able to be "normal"
 - a mother or a friend.

So I keep doing what I do best,
I slowly bleed out drops love,
as I write - it is who I am.