Mannequins

What if, most of who I am today, is a loosely bound package of manufactured selves? Crafted over the years to hide my pain and wipe away my tears. This glued-together self has gotten me stuck in a self-destructive cycle. To the point that the image I convey is a mannequin with lungs. The capacity to breathe...but not to live. Fixated on building the plastic image in the window, I only exist for the gaze of the shopper passing by. See me. Buy me. Value me.

Today, I face the mannequin in the window. As I press my face against the window, I fall through into the arms of myself...my mannequin. It tumbles to the ground and falls to pieces. I am surrounded by plastic arms, legs, torso, head, and clothes. Is this really me?? All that I've been working on comes down to this...scattered, plastic limbs and high-dollar clothes. Is this all that my grasping/living has come to??

Do I pick up the limbs and start all over again? Brush off the clothes and dress up the plastic image? Prop it up in front of the window. Makes me weary just thinking about it. Pieced together...posing forever. The window beckons me...come, pose, be seen, be valued. The shoppers need you. You need you.

Broken, shattered, laying on the floor...in need of restoration. I call out to You. God, deliver me from myself. Take the mannequin I've manufactured and burn it up, destroy it. Pull me from the prostituting window of posing and press me deeply into the wonder of Your love and acceptance.