It's amazing the feeling you get when you've struggled with something
and then you kick it in the face. That's not to say you're not tempted
to do it anymore, but every time it rears its ugly head what do you
do? Why you bash it into the ground like a whack-a-mole, of course. =)
Thing is, though, we hardly ever kick the can alone. You ask Elohim to
throw some help your way, forget about it, and maybe even go back to
doing what you were doing before. Suddenly He tells you to do
something CRAZY, just plain out there. You know those moments when
God's plans don't quite line up with YOUR plans? "Your plans" . . .
Haha! (That was a rhetorical question for those of you lacking in
wit...look up rhetorical yourself!)
Ahem, anyway, you eventually come to your senses and do what he says.
Completely nonsensical, but you "indulge" God anyway like you're
actually helping him. Heh, silly humans. So you do it, all the while
wondering how exactly you got conned into it, but somewhere along the
way you meet people and you grow close . . . too close. So close that
a little friction starts; next thing you know sparks are flying and
the blade is meeting the grinding stone at a rapid pace. An ancient
tome* says that the wounds of a friend are faithful, and iron sharpens
iron. Through the process you're both made into blades of the purest
metal (Mithril or Adamantium, if you will) that shine brighter than
you ever could have alone. The impurities become that much more
obvious against the "shininess", so what does that other person do?
Attack the weak spots, naturally, but in a life-giving way.
After they've been "through the fire and flames", the blades
become a pair. Twin Swords, yes? Alone they are fantastic in their own
right, but together? Together they are legendary.
We've made a big deal out of the forging process, but let's not forget
that without the author and executor of that process it's nothing.
Elyon is the great , and he makes Muramasa's weapons look
like Fisher-Price toys.
A fool, I am.
To think that the I, mere ore, could help the Blacksmith?
Preposterous! My Father knows best (the divine one AND the earthly
one, though I'm loath to admit it) and when HE speaks I should listen.
He told me to jump into the fire because he knew what a brilliant
piece of work I could be.
I asked to be fixed, and thinking that God forgot about my plea I went
on my merry little way. He did NOT forget; he just had
something way better in mind.
Oh, and as a sidenote: I'm working on a short story about . . . well, you'll see. It should be pretty loopy, so everyone should read it. Too-da-loo!