A Mark of Sin
I frequently carry my stress in my head. I have a specific headache that is directly related to stress. I can feel it starting and know that when it's at it's height I am am going to be dizzy. Sometimes when it starts I am in a situation where I can back up and evaluate what is going on: Am I in the wrong? Am I going about this the wrong way? Why is this bothering me or making me nervous? But sometimes I just barrel through.
But every-once-in-a-while, my stress skips the head-ache and goes to my face in the form of a hive on my left cheek. It starts to get warmer and warmer and warmer... like that game where children are hunting for something in the room. And then there's a hive. The more stress, the bigger it gets.
And I look at that hive flamed by the torch of my sins: pride, worry, the god of I Need To Fix It, lust for wanting everything to be easy-everything to go my way. Such a public statement, this hive. And I am forced to deal with it as opposed to my private head-aches. I have to put a cold cloth on my cheek. I have to calm myself down so that I don't end up covered in splotches. I HAVE to stop and examine the sin that's burning in me.
And I wish that all my sins were like that. I wish my nose would grow with lies. I wish my eyes would glue shut or my ears fall off or my hands shrivel up. I wish my feet would turn to soft clay. I don't want to go on sinning. I don't want to ignore or tolerate my sin or grow calloused to the internal private warning signs.
Oh, Lord... thank You for this hive.
But every-once-in-a-while, my stress skips the head-ache and goes to my face in the form of a hive on my left cheek. It starts to get warmer and warmer and warmer... like that game where children are hunting for something in the room. And then there's a hive. The more stress, the bigger it gets.
And I look at that hive flamed by the torch of my sins: pride, worry, the god of I Need To Fix It, lust for wanting everything to be easy-everything to go my way. Such a public statement, this hive. And I am forced to deal with it as opposed to my private head-aches. I have to put a cold cloth on my cheek. I have to calm myself down so that I don't end up covered in splotches. I HAVE to stop and examine the sin that's burning in me.
And I wish that all my sins were like that. I wish my nose would grow with lies. I wish my eyes would glue shut or my ears fall off or my hands shrivel up. I wish my feet would turn to soft clay. I don't want to go on sinning. I don't want to ignore or tolerate my sin or grow calloused to the internal private warning signs.
Oh, Lord... thank You for this hive.
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