"How did I end up here?" I ask myself. I can't remember how or why I got buried alive inside this remote hill no one ever visits. I'm desperate for air.
With every fiber of my being I struggle to break free from the mix of rubble, sand, and sticky dirt holding me captive. Pushing. Grabbing. Climbing. One step at a time.
The progress is painfully slow. Oh for a drop of sunshine, oh for a hint of love! I'm feeling so alone.
"Help, somebody, get me past this rigid stone!" I plea, but no lifeline is forthcoming. My cries are swallowed by the mountain I have little faith to move.
It's useless to call for help. No one sees or hears me in this narrow crevice where no daisies grow and no petunias flourish. No black-eyed Susan flirts with me, no morning glory watches out for me, no tulip speaks my name. Come to think of it, do I even have a name? Seems Mom and Dad forgot to give me one.
I feel so deserted, so abandoned, so uncared for, so...
I have so much to offer this cruel world, yet here I sit like a discarded parchment gathering dust beneath the cobwebs of a recluse spider, hidden in an obscure basement no one ever visits. To get out, I have to weave my own ladder. And it isn't easy.
Inside my bowels languishes a wealth of ideas waiting to be handed to a publisher, but no one desires to trade with me. I'm like the talent of a stingy man, useless and
Some say it's my own fault I'm such a hermit, but I can't help the fact I've been
I was born behind a closed door, which I guess is good if you like privacy. Personally, I'd prefer an inn, or even a stable. But only kings are brought to light in stables. Shepherds flocked to see our Savior, but no one ever bothers to peek in on me.
Nobody sees me, nobody seeks me, no one even knows that I exist.
No one's lending me a hand, but if I can manage to liberate a limb, I might just get my breakthrough.
Pushing, pulling, grasping. One step at a time.
Every time I think I've reached the top, I fall right back down again.
The grief of unbelief leaves me no room to breathe as I cling to lumps of stone and hardened clay, undetected and
Such high hopes, but still no rope.
Near death, I make my mind up: Persevere! Like a woman sweeping her house for a lost coin, I explore every corner and crevice of my cramped confines, seeking an anchor with which to keep my steps from sliding.
Head flat against this stubborn ceiling, I push. And push. And push. It doesn't budge, but I'm not giving up.
Like new wine, I'm rich with budding metaphors, ready to burst the confines of my old goatskin, this carefully controlled environment shackling my freedom.
Getting past rejection, one step at a time.
Just... a little further... Oh wow! I did it! I see a thin shaft of light, an opening in the door I thought was closed!
Fresh hope pours into me as I carefully squeeze my way between the proverbial rock and hard place. It's a tight fit, but I made it.
I extend my closed appendages and stretch, letting out a giant yawn as I drink in the glorious freedom I've been waiting for so long. No longer bound in darkness, I'm full of radiant light, reveling in the open revelation of how very much I am
My Maker has accepted me. He's heard my plea and noticed me. I feel so good, so very good, deep down inside.
Who cares if anyone else sees me?
But someone does, for just then I hear a woman shout, "Look over there! Popping out of the crack in those steps up ahead. A forget-me-not. Be careful not to step on it."
It feels wonderful to be accepted.
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