Whoever told me “the world is your oyster” was forgetting how violent the phrase is. So much so that it came to me as the scene to describe a current dark situation. The twist: I am the oyster — and I don’t like what the world is doing to me.
Gray. Dark. Painful. Shattering. Jagged. Deliberate. Merciless. Hurried. Disproportionate. Fierce. One blow after another. Some blood if you will.
I am doing all I could to keep my shells closed. My soul hangs for dear life to the mother of pearl that contains it. This is so unfair. Why should it hurt so much? Why can’t the world wait for my willing surrender of whatever beauty is forming inside? Why does it have to be shucked out of me through this extremely distressful process?
Something tells me there is much to learn here. There is a higher purpose. And in the end, all will be well. I know all that… or do I? Really? Because the only thing true right now is this gnawing feeling of utter helplessness and sorrow. So I don’t know. Nor do I care to know. Just stop this pain. It’s too much!
The writer of Psalm 13 may well have penned the words for me.
1 How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? 2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? 3 Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death; 4 my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
And though it is hard to see, may I come out of this, too, with his conclusion.
5 But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. 6 I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.