What if we all just stopped pretending?

What if?

I can't do this without you. I'm not going to make it. Don't leave me. I'm scared. I loathe and despise what you do. I'm angry. I want to go with you. I do have something to offer. You have something I need. We're together. We're apart. I'm alone. I'm being smothered. I don't know how to do this. I'm lost. Help me. Carry me. Here, let me carry that for you. I can see you're hurting - I'm hurting too. I matters. It doesn't matter. I really, really want to start painting again. Where have you been? Where are you going? I don't know what happens next. I'm not afraid. I terrified. I'm filled with joy whenever I'm here. My heart sings. My soul is heavy. I have a mental illness. It's hurts to hear you say that. Your jokes aren't funny - they're racist. It was my mistake. I want to dance. It really wasn't my fault. I did have a choice. Why didn't you fight for us? I can't shake this sadness. I can't wake up. I look in the mirror and see some woman I hardly know. I look in the mirror and see memories of the man I used to be. You're so beautiful. You did a really good job on that. That was wrong. This is wrong. This feels so right. I don't have any control over this at all. I've never had any control over this. I have control over this. I'm afraid that if you really knew me, you wouldn't want me around. I still dream of being in a band, and I'm afraid to let that dream out. I admire you. I'm intimidated by you. That hurts - it really, really hurts. I'm not the person you think I am. I can't continue to be the person you want me to be. I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to stop. I don't know who I am. I just want to go home. This place is my home. If I'm not perfect you won't love me, and I need you to love me. I'm afraid to say no. I'm afraid to say yes. I'm trapped by my fear. I love you...

What if we all just stopped pretending?

There is so much fear and pain that binds us, so much joy that awaits us, so much life to be so much more abundantly lived, and there waits Jesus, on the other side of our cell doors, on the other side of life and death and truth or lies, on the other side of the illusions we let bind and keep us, that smile playing at the corners of his lips as he wraps his arms around us, his warm moist breath whispering, gently, lovingly, I am the way, the truth and the life...

Isn't it about time we stopped pretending to be alive? If He is our life, isn't it about time we started really living instead? Come Lord Jesus, and show us The Way...