The curtain opens and there you stand,
A puppet on strings, a ventriloquist doll or a beautifully creative artist?
One who goes about life holding on by a string,
One who speaks only what they are told to speak, without a second though,
Or one who crafts something which is both pleasing to the Creator and spectator?
As the dust settled I grew strings, strings which were used to both hold me down, and steer me away from what I saw as right.
As the dust has begun to clear, I have noticed the ugly hooks which remain in myself,
And while the strings have been severed, still remains the potential for something to grab hold of me from the outside.
Hooks, embedded deep within the flesh, ugly things which cause the affected to oouze discontentment, discouragement, fear and sin.
Slowly I have begun to work the hooks I have found outwards...out of my being.
To tear is to damage, wounds become infected.
*Praise be to You, Jehovah Raphah*
The thought of being controlled by something other than God, terrifies me to my core.
I am not a puppet, not even God uses us as one.
We are free...to choose...to move...to listen and discern.
*Praise be to You, Jehovah Shalom*
The depiction of man on strings is a scary but often real representation of life here...and all across the globe.
All the world is a stage...
A fanciful cliche, or a scary truth?