Internal Hemorrhage

I hide behind words that mask the compulsion to meet the expectations that make this world smaller.

You’d think that somehow, after years of preparation, I would face this day with an armor of faith, an anchor of hope, and a balance of conviction.

I just came from a vacation.  I just went to confession.  I just devoted a Day of Prayer.  And then it hit me, and I blinked.  Bad news struck like a personalized thunderbolt.  Where did this come from?  Why didn’t I see it coming?

It had happened to me before, so I should be used to it by now.  But knowledge of their seizures does not heal epileptics.  

I should be strong. I should be calm.  I should mask my feelings and be gracious.

And when I feel like climbing into a dark hole to wait for the sun to rise, I will just write.  I am not allowed to be weak.  I am not allowed to feel pain.

I have news for them: I do get hurt too.  When I lose a friend over a fight for my principles, it kills me too.  When I lose ten friends because I tried to do the right thing, in obedience and submission, I shed endless tears.  

When I get my heart broken, or insulted, or ignored, it affects me, more than raindrops could drench my clothes and rust could eat away steel.

I am human. I work. I obey. I hope.  To those who say leaders should not feel emotion, I ask you to feel yours.  You could bleed to death too.