Secret Stealing

A secret is something that lives inside. Rents out a corner in your heart. Stocks up on food and water and supplies, then bars itself up for the wait. A secret waits. It's something you're not proud of, or you are; but no matter what, no one else would understand - appreciate - its worth. A secret is a treasure. Some kind of diamond that you have come across and if you tell, then you're trading it in and where's the sentiment in that? A secret is sometimes the only thing that you have that's really yours.

A secret is a keepsake. It's not meant to be passed on.

I don't like when my friends repeatedly pump me for information. I want to live my life, collect my experiences, and CHOOSE which to share and which to keep. There can be something so special in a keepsake, like my grandmother's Bible, and no matter who I show it to, no one will grasp it's true worth. I keep it to myself. I keep it special.

I also don't like to lie. A secret can be safe - especially when the secret is nothing wrong - but I want to guard it behind a smile, not behind lies. So when you pump me for information every time we meet, you force me to put up a new lie, a new plank to the fence-post around it. And soon, the wood is hardening my heart and the secret that was so beautiful is becoming an eye-sore.

I like my friends to hold me accountable; but if you ask me once - something personal really, that's not really appropriate anyway, that I should come to you with when I'm ready, not the other way around - and then you ask me again - and then again...

Either you don't believe me or you don't want to believe me.

But it's MY secret to keep. My lie to tell.

Let me have my secret!

I have promised someone that I would not tell this one thing. That it was safe, crouched low underneath my soul. When you constantly ask me these personal questions, you cause 3 reactions:
1. Cause me to lie to you - a friend - someone I don't want to lie to.
2. Cause me to break his confidence - a love - someone I don't want to betray.
3. Cause me to question your motives - a friend - that won't give me peace.

Secrets carry a societal negative stigma, but I think that's wrong. If you want something to yourself, people jump to conclusions... get scared... doubt you.

Then do those people really love you? Or want to own you?

A secret is a small, small piece of the soul. When I love or trust someone, I let them see inside my soul... let them see what I feel is healthy for me to share. Secret stealers think they know more about my emotional health. I do not understand that.

When I have company over, I show them around the house. The den, the dining room, the bedrooms, the bath. I fail to take them to the attic.... and they never seem to mind. I'm thinking of moving my secret upstairs.

A good friend has good intentions. Wants to help. Wants to "listen". Feels that sharing my secret brings us closer. It doesn't. The prodding and distrust only pushes me away.

And the crazy thing is... I probably would've told you about it eventually, but on my own time.

You don't need to know everything. I think that you may carry the same secret, but I have never asked you about it... while you question me every time we meet. In the car, at a restaurant, on your bed.

You finally break me down... mainly, because I know I'm a bad liar and because I am tired. Tired of this game.

I trust you. I know you will keep my secret safe... I just wish I could have had one truly special thing all of my own. Something I didn't feel bad about til I saw the disappointment in your eyes. Which ruined the purity of my secret.

iGod - Part I

I AM ALL-PRESENT
for The Journey Christian Church
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I am... bright blonde hair sticking out of a too-big head, static cling pullin' at it, wool Christmas sweater not helping. Am child. Am princess, am center of the party, am digging under the tree like a bee to honey, wrapping paper tossed here and there, thick rug carpet somewhere underneath it all. Am curious like crawling into cardboard boxes, mischievous like hiding in Mamaw's closet, cute as a kitten like squeakin' out "Jesus loves me this I know" in front of the whole family. Am 4 years old. Am a doll.

i am.

I am... voice high and off key, big braces flashing the congregation like, "Bam! I got a solo in the youth choir!" Am energy. Am adolescent. Am middle school piano lessons, intramural basketball, am all kinds of passing notes in class - old enough to know what name-brand jeans are, poor enough not to own any, but hip enough to tight roll the ones I got. Am in love for the first time... every - single - day of sixth grade. Am a puppet.

i am.

I am... crackin' a joke at my locker as the seniors strut down the hall. My friends laugh at me and I am a hair tossing, twirling, crimping, big bangs sporting junior - boy crazy like I need something to change - my - life. I am youth group on Wednesdays, french-kissing on Friday nights, and Sunday School on Sunday mornings like it was God saving my soul and not Brian Whitson. Am myself and my shadow. Am a mannequin.

i am.

I am... moving the tassle from the left to the right and the only one of my friends not getting married. Am college graduate like Mom and Dad are so proud and college graduate like wanting to rip up every photo they're snapping - like I don't know what to do with my life. Am a blonde haired, perfect smile, life of the party, college graduate with a degree and no office to hang it in. Don't want to work for Dad, can't teach like Mom, and 22 years of "I'm sinning and I know it" to even ask God what He thinks. Am a blank stare, fake smile, and broken heart. Am a shell.

i am.

not alone... but feelin' that way.
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I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU OR FORSAKE YOU. Joshua 1:5