Here we are again.
Another day, another secret.
I am beginning to doubt myself – what’s my secret? I mean, I must have one, right?
I peer over my shoulder and wonder what nervous secret hides away in her? Hah. What about Him? His must be awfully tucked away.
Her hair covers her face like a blanket for her lies. Trapped. No one can see them but her. Yet she, day in and day out, doesn’t dare to stare them back in the eyes.
And him. Oh, the boy with the crooked smile. He parades thinking his secret is what gives him power. It fuels his fire, feeds his flame. Yet, once again, he wouldn’t dare let anyone take a peek at the private world he created for himself. For the truth is much more terrifying than the blissful lie that he has comfortably made home.
How is it that every time one of these secrets comes out, I feel another knife enter my back? Is it because the truth is painful? Or is it the hiding of the truth that causes such suffering?
I start to wonder if I even want to hear the truth. I mean, living in my quaint little world of unknown lies felt a whole lot safer than stepping foot in the truth.
Now I have to ask myself, how on earth am I supposed to find God in this?
I mean, I have been taught my whole life that I don’t have to search for Him. After all, why “look” for something that is already there. Apparently, He will “never leave you nor forsake you.”
Even David wrote about how “If we ascend into heaven, He is there;
If we make our beds in hell, behold, He is there.”
How is it that God is somehow in Hell but I’m stuck here searching?
…
I look in the mirror and start to wonder, “Hailey, what are you looking for?”
Looking for another secret? Just another excuse?
Huh, maybe another reason why I think it’s my fault?
Someone as confident as me shouldn’t have to search. I never did. So why now?
It all comes back to the secret. Or maybe it just comes back to the truth.
The brutal, honest, and so very painful truth.
Maybe I’m searching for an answer. I mean, I have so many questions that entangle me. They
trap me. Wrap a rope around me and pull tight. No oxygen. No hope. No life.
The answer would free me, I think. Or would it just make the cuts deeper?
Why wasn’t I enough? What did I do to deserve this? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?
…
The mirror stares back at me. Nothing has changed, yet I’m a whole lot more confused.
Again, I ask what I’m searching for.
I think of the girl. The one who tucks away her secrets. Her secrets aren’t even hers to hide.
She doesn’t want to be hurt again and if she tells the truth she has to relive the nightmare of her pain.
The boy, on the other hand, hides his secrets because he knows they will hurt others. He
forbids his private world from ever seeing the light -- thinking once his secrets are seen, he will be trapped in his darkness.
I can see God in both these scenarios:
He is hurting with the girl. He knows how she was hurt in the past and prays she will stand up for herself and share the truth.
He also hurts for the boy. He is present in the boy’s private world, and hopes he will turn to Him.
He loves them both dearly and cries in their pain.
I stand, adjust my hair, and stare at the reflection of a torn up, broken-hearted girl.
I start to cry.
I realize I was never looking for Him.
He never left.
I was looking for myself: the funny, loud, confident girl who found joy in life. The girl who loved who she was.
She is still there. She still has a voice. She is just hurting.
I wipe my tears and stare.
I will conquer this. I will come out stronger. I will heal.
For now, I am just a baffled king, composing hallelujah.
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