I'm just gonna say it from the jump: we're all uncomfortable and unsure. I'm certain that all of us are in a spot where we think we know what we need but are still not quite certain. You know, that, feeling of desperation due to deprivation of real restoration because we seek the wrong medication which then directs us to the incorrect meditation that then leaves us with segregation in this divided nation. Blind to understanding that freedom from a red, white, and blue flag could still leave us in slavery in our soul. Divided.
See, we use Lego pieces to try and build the broken pieces of our heart back together, knowing that plastic is never a good substitute for flesh. Beauty brands encourage women to love the skin they're in by selling them lies and lies of products, meanwhile only giving moisture to the surface skin, avacado cleanse, nu grow lashes, offering no effect whatsoever on a dusty heart. Men are not encouraged much to be what they've been given to be by their creator. Their skin melds with the Armani, Louis V, North Face, big mansion living, white collar playa mentality, where as long as I gave $1 at the taco bell line to the Boys & Girls Club, God is good with me. Identity.
We eat mad sloppy, and after much gluttony when we somehow then feel bad because we see our stomachs poking out, we then become fitness beasts, hoping that the abs will show. Unfortunately our egos grow, and our hearts are then tied to weights that we can never lift because we know that we will never get the body we actually want. But hey, it got us 100 likes from temporary people on a microwave social media site, so we good, for now. Unsatisfied.
We hear of arguments of what rights we should have in our country, some we're a part of, hoping that our world would become more neutral. Aborting our original identities for a subjective painting of us that we ourselves painted because we felt the original divine painter somehow missed a spot. Hoping we can be cool and coexist with everything and everybody, yet missing the point of earthly bodies that eventually decay, hoping that we will be received in the heavens above one day because we did nice things for people, and because we weren't as bad as that other guy and fought for the right reasons and were selfless. Morality.
We are told to buy buy buy, yet our eyes are not n sync with our wallets and we end up going bankrupt for more temporary pleasures that do nothing but make us want more nothing. And it is in this nothing that we find ourselves, living everyday, hoping, wishing, that somehow earning the rights and freedom we desire would get us a right into an eternity of peace. Finally we could gain some dang tranquility and hopefully my feelings about who I am and what I want to be will make me more happy, but you see. That's not free. My skin is still missing pieces of hope that can't come from me, my skills, or abilities. Blind.
And I've tried, as I've battled with my dangerous neighborhood of a mind. My Jafar telling me all my wishes could come true here on earth, AKA YOLO, and that I can pursue whatever I want, even if it means the destruction of my heart and soul, because hey, if it feels right do it. I'll be best around people that I vibe with. So I dap em up, yet still uncomfortable, still empty, still weak, still wanting more. Confusion.
They say be comfortable in the skin you're in, but I can't comfortable when that skin has sin. And the only way I can love this skin I'm in, is by being at peace with my maker, trusting the miraculous work of him sending his son Jesus who died, killing my sin and making me more like him. I'm a cracked jar. The putrid sewer water fills but it empties again, yet the potter wants to put me back together again. A broken, sinful, rebellious man finds hope in the one he ran away from. The boundless great love of the one who made it all cares to sit on the throne of my heart, offering a new water and mending the cracked jar. Hope.
This new skin is something that money can't buy, that wasn't cleansed and moisturized with lotions or Egyptian oils, that wasn't gained by me earning more rights, looking fit and tight, living how I best felt right for me, doing good deeds, or being a man's man. No, it was in the suffering that I cried and the hound of heaven came whispering through the night, hearing my pleas and forgiving me. Forgiving me for being so foolish to believe that there was another greater than him. Losing my rights, I gained him. And it is only then that I become complete in him, with a comfortable skin, a skin that is at peace, because my enemy became my friend. Love.