Today I came across this piece that I made in my much-loved, half-broken, worn notebook. I vaguely remember writing it, but don’t recall what brought around these thoughts. All I remember is that it all started with that circle on the page. I was trying to figure out how to turn a blank page with a black ring on it into a beautiful piece of art.
And then there it was. Fill half of the circle with synonyms for “beautiful,” and the other half with antonyms. And, somehow (I guess), the rest of the words just flowed from my head, through my hands, and onto the paper.
Which is stronger? A kind word, or a derogatory one?
If first: what about one’s insecurities? Would they not kill any goodness in an instant?
If second: how could men possibly be so cruel to each other? Even a weaker but nice word is better than a strong, mean one.
What on earth is wrong with this place?
Contradicting but beautiful. Large, yet so, so small. Full of idolotry and purity. Supposedly sinnless, but so broken we can’t even see our ugliness. So vain, so humble. Confusingly simple. So full of hatred.
I don’t understand this world I live in.
So I’ll cling to Christ, who will save me from this place.
This crazy, twisting, long, fantastic, odd, beautiful life means something to Him.
And I don’t mean to disappoint Him.