“Caught under wheel’s roll, I take the leech, I’m bleeding me. Can’t stop to save my soul, I take the leash that’s leading me. I’m bleeding me, I can’t take it…”

-James Hetfield, Bleeding Me

We walk. But not alone. We are many. We are one…

The sun rises again upon our broken backs. Casting a never ending shadow that chases us. One that never ceases to follow. Even, somehow, through the midnight hour. We drag ourselves through another unforgiving day. The sweat of our brow stings our eyes as we strain to see the end. This day that we pray will move faster. Yet the minute disguises itself as an hour. Deceiving us once again. We yearn for this end. Eight hours? Ten? Twelve? Whatever lot has been cast toward us. Only to have to relive the madness again tomorrow. Another clone of this day. Only the date has changed. What do we have to show for it? We have earned one more wrinkle. One more gray strand. We punch the clock. Then we return to that which is of importance. That which will outlast our time and carry on, even after this wretched place has put another in our seat and allowed our names to fade from their lips a little more as each day passes. Until we are forgotten.

“Nobody ever said it would be like this. All I ever thought was laid to rest. In battle to struggle to survive. To live is the truest test… And all they ever taught me was to never, never, let them see me cry.”

-Chris Mays, The Real World

They call our name as we walk through the door, barely able to hold our heads up. Just like the king whose crown is greater than he. A warm embrace. A kiss. They make it all worth the while. All the pain and burden that we carry. Being away from Them more than we are from that place. Missing out on Life itself. Becoming a mystery by each passing day. Until one day They are gone. And we have missed it because we are bound to vocation. Not because we desire to be. Although some of us do love what we do and desire to hide amongst the fetters. Desiring The Master over Love. But we stay away from Them because we must. In order to survive. Is that not what is the definition of “life”? A battle to struggle to survive? Trying to keep our lungs above water? Trying to live?

We ask ourselves the hard questions. “Am I doing enough?”, “Am I failing?”, “Can I even look Them in the eyes? Into Her eyes?”, “Am I still Their hero?” as we struggle to keep up in a world that has left us behind. In many cases we find ourselves somewhere that we do not desire to be. Just to get by. Many times we find ourselves spinning our wheels. Digging deeper and deeper until it seems that all hope is lost. Until we no longer have the ability to pull ourselves out. We must call for help, for we cannot do it alone. Is there more to it than this? Are we doing enough? Is it ever enough? Satisfaction escapes yet again. Sideways we step as we look ahead. Praying to at least not step backwards.

Our hands are cracked and calloused. Our bodies ache. Unrelenting. We desire that there could be another way. But reality sets in. As the thorns and thistles draw blood we come to the conclusion that it must be this way. Life is a candle burning at both ends. As the flames eat away at the quick we reason that with each passing day our options become more limited. One day we may find ourselves sitting in our rocking chair asking “Why?”, and… 

“What if…”

The vicious cycle continues. It will never break until we can afford to leave it all behind. Or until we draw our last breath and return our bodies to the dirt. Until then we are another gear in the assembly line. Another rung in someone else’s ladder. A temple without a foundation. It tilts as all control is lost from our hands and given into the hands of another. All of time is defined by them. Our lives are bound to their shackles. Little by little we realize that they own us. We cannot escape lest we die. 

“You cannot…” they say.

“We cannot…” we repeat.

There must be something greater than this. Is it truly the way that it must be? Toil is the necessity. Yes. Thistles and thorns are our burden. But should it be a prison within ourselves? Should we faithfully arise before the sun to the repetitive melody of Life’s broken record? Should we stand before our children with the sash that reads “Stranger”?  Sadly, that answer is “Yes”.

This is the burden that we wear. A worn out soul and a broken heart with a body to match. As They cry out our name with an embrace. As She welcomes us with a kiss. We wear our mask with a smile. We silence the struggle within. Will They understand? Will They see us as weak (which we are)? Or will They believe that They are the chain that suffocates us? Therefore our lips remain shut. To Them there is nothing to hear. To us the silence is deafening. The unnamed feeling remains within us.

For this is truly the tragedy in the heart of the kings. To be caught under the rolling wheel that spins. Pushing us down into the rut with it as we constantly ask “Is this all there is to Life?”. As we spend our days repeating the burden of being somewhere that we do not wish to be, dealing with people that we do not wish to deal with. Being belittled and bullied by someone that has the power to make us a beggar. For what? That we may survive. That we may provide for our own. A necessity as we settle in for a life of the same song every day. Yet, there is nothing that we can say. If we protest, then the world tells us to be silent and take it. For this is how it is meant to be. Our loved ones may take offense to our complaints from dancing in the rain, believing that they are somehow the storm. Or They may simply see us as being weak. That we are no longer the hero, but now the defeated villain. So we do not speak. We have no one to open up to. There is not one that would understand because we do not understand it ourselves. We place the blame upon our own shoulders. We are martyrs. Dying not for a cause that we believe in, but for necessity. Because men should not feel this way. Or should they? Would they? The only thing that we have learned was to never, NEVER, let them see you cry.

We must be there for Them. It is what we are called to do. Somehow. Some way. However, Life pulls us away to its own desires and wishes. It pulls us apart from Them. It pulls us apart from ourselves. Every good man desires to be there. To be more present. And the strain is greater for he who walks with God. We strive to give our all with what little time Life grants us. But it is out of our hands. Just out of our reach. And if these children happen to turn away as The Prodigal Son, how much of the undoing is our own? Did we not try? Or could we not? Time and time again we fall short of our calling. And when Her heart breaks, how many tears must fall in solitude because Life tells us “No” as we try to break free of the chains to be there? Will our distant prayers make a difference?

Voices pull at us, shouting “Lead them!”. We look into Her eyes as they silently say “Lead me!”. We peer into Their souls as they quietly whisper “Lead us!”. But Time spies from the shadows as Life pulls the leash yet again. For it gets ever so much shorter by the day. “I cannot!”  we scream as it all once again slips through our fingers. Failure is the specter that haunts us as the sun sets on another day.

We must carry on. We must fight the day that drags us down. That drags us away from ourselves and who we want to be. This is our purpose despite feeling that we have no purpose. We do it for Them. This is our sacrifice. But it is not our Salvation. For such rests in the shadow of The Cross. It lies in the drops of blood that have trickled from His feet and into the dust below. The same dust that we were born from. The same that we will inevitably become. If we set our eyes upon His Grace and Mercy then we will gain a better understanding of our purpose. All other trinkets and toys, desires and dreams, would not have mattered in the end. All that matters is Legacy. 

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her. And you, fathers, do not provoke your children to wrath, but bring them up in the training and admonition of the Lord.”

-Paul, to The Church at Ephesus

It is the promise to Adam that we cannot change. Yet it is in the precious frail moments that Time allows where we can make a difference.

“And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.”

-Deuteronomy 6:6-9

As He carries us through the storms and mud, may we carry Them to Him and his Sacrifice. Those that call out our name and embrace us as we walk in and shake the brokenness from our day. May we place The Christ upon our doorposts and write His name upon our walls. May we walk in His footsteps, that They may walk in the same way. Pressing our feet hard into the clay, that They cannot miss the prints. Then They will know to call upon His name and embrace His cross on the day of Salvation. May this be that which carries us beneath the wicked skies. Then we can rest knowing that we have done all that we can do. In the end this is what matters. Vocation, the burden that wears us down from the inside out and the outside in, is only temporal. Just like the thistle and thorn, they too will be trampled under foot and rot.

May we remember. May we learn. Then one day, when we are prepared for Time to outlive our souls, we can turn around and look back at the paths that we had trodden. We can then look into the eyes of the familiar faces that have gathered around and say…

“I am blessed!”

“Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

-Jesus Christ