Why Can't I Be Like Them?

Under the charisma of every perfect facade, unravels darkness. Perfection could never comprehend pain. Every bit of darkness seemed to spill over, seeping through the already empty heart's void, carassing with its sweet taste, luring it into its presence. The heart, already weakened, wearily invites it in, willingly listening to its words.

And when it realised the damage that darkess had done to its once beautiful, flourishing garden, it was too late. The flower had died.

Deep in the night, a strange longing creeps into my heart. Don't you desire?

Desire what? I ask the other side of my head, patiently probing, yet frustrated at my inability to fall asleep. I guess listening to myself ramble was in tonight's agenda.

Desire..

The words fade out, blocked by a defense mechanism that has grown stronger over the months. Eyes jolting open, I understand. Ah, my eyes should be shut. It slowly closes again.

A silent tear suddenly falls. My heart understands. It's screaming out in my head, hands bleeding from continuously hitting the walls of my heart. The words echo through the chasms of the heart.

What you desire can never be attained. It's not yours.

It's not something you deserve. You're not enough. Work for it.

A deeper longing for more, for greater connections, for forged friendships, for strong ones, for someone to understand.

For more.

If I could attain such a good friendship as that..

The words don't finish. My monologue doesn't continue, because I don't know its outcome. Living with the pains of a dead wasteland with no flourishing growth hits, that's all I've really ever known.

But Lord, do I sound whiny? Am I asking for too much? The heart is known for its deceit, am I not content with the gifts that You've provided me with? For two people with patience and love to journey with. Is it not enough?

The monologue stops, speechless, knowing contentment has not been a friend to me lately. Yet, I can't help it. As mentioned, the garden has been clouded, my views, tainted and jaded. I don't have an answer, yet the echoes are bouncing off these empty walls, louder than when they first started. I can't shake them, because they're so real. These desires are real.

Walking through the garden, I begin to understand again. I pick up a grey-toned flower that was once bright, buried by the soil. The most beautiful of the lot, its beauty encapsulates the glow of the sun, and its fragrance a strong scent of joy. The once beautiful flower now hangs in my hands, withered andd faded that no earthly power had the ability to resurrect. I stand there, in silence, almost like I was mourning a life. I guess I was, that flower was once alive, yet, the wastelands destroyed it. Painful I must say, to see a once beautiful thing fall apart like that. I'm still mourning, not the flower itself, but its fragrance and its beauty. Never in my life have I seen such beauty, never in my life have I smelt such fragrance. Now that it's gone, the garden rots again, of everything that I'm taunted by.

Seeing another flower of that same beauty and fragrance, I long for it, with the knowledge that its out of my reach, in a different person's garden. But I still get reminded of a flower that I once held in my hands. It pains, and pangs when the aroma seeps into my garden. I open up the gates of my garden, walking up to the flower I see. Why would you do such a terrible thing to yourself? The easiest way is to get as far from that flower as possible. "But it's beautiful," a thought whispers. "It is indeed". The closer I got to the flower, the more I realised, its radiance was even greater, aroma way stronger. It was beautiful, even more beautiful than the flower that had withered in my garden.

I run back to my garden, in tears as I realise, I lost something valuable, but watched from the sidelines as a beautiful flower grew near my midst, yet, I had no power to reach out and take it as my own. That flower would die. It was too beautiful to die.

Shrivelled up with defeat, I realise that the flower was protecting itself from me. The aroma was too strong to keep me near. One touch, and I might plague it.

"Do I not deserve good things?"

I look up to Heaven, with a million questions unanswered. Why would You let me see that flower that probes a desire in my heart, that's unattainable? Why then would You even let me out of the gates to explore that flower? Why was it in the garden beside mine? Was this pure cruelty to watch my garden slowly darken, as another flourishes? Did I have to watch this? Was there an exit ticket to this? There isn't.

Stay and watch.

This analogy so powerfully encapsulates the heart. Writing Your promises on my heart, I know that the garden I've seen fall apart for years, will come to life. The flowers would bloom again, beautiful, bigger, brighter than ever. The journey of cleaning it up is long, lonely, and tiresome. Others have to tend to their flourishing gardens, while I clean my messy one up. Walking towards the Light, weeding the roots, replanting seeds is never easy. Yet maybe, it's a "worth-it" process.

Maybe after all, my desires are attainable. My garden will flourish again.

Written a while back.

Ever been in a place where you were in despair, wondering why everything around you was blooming while you stood in the midst of it all, drowning in your pain? Everything around you seemed to poke fun at your misery and sorrow with its luscious beauty, while yours stood. Withered.

I hope you know that there is hope! Just as how He's been faithful through the ages, He is a faithful gardener who is slowly mending your garden. Your garden will bloom again :) What looks withered is actually being refined and sharpened.

Jun 9, 2021