There is a monster I foolishly feed. His muscles grow with each morsel that trickles from my hand. I recognize his hideous presence, for the stench of death emanates from the hairy beast. Yet tragically, I do not realize it is my hand that sustains his destructive existence. Nay, rather, it is my hand that causes his poison to spread and his trail of decay to thrive. How can I be blind to my role as an enabling companion, an accomplice of atrocities? The trick is in the glitter of his eyes, the sweetness of his facade, and the innocence of his reflection. A master of disguise is the beast that stocks me.
His name is ever changing, his appearance masked in shallow pleasantries. His whisper promises loyalty and authenticity, yet stings when the mist of deception clears. This beast awakens the ugly tempers within me, fans the flames of frustration, offense, and judgement that spark to life at his hisses. Grace meant to engulf my relationships is evaporated before his throne, and truth is cast into the shadows of his shine.
What hope can pierce through the despair of this catastrophic relationship? What power can cause my hand to cease providing the strength that empowers his attacks? How can I starve my beast? What death can claim him who delights in delivering death?
Only one sword can bring my beast to his grave. Only one power can destroy the destroyer. Only one King can reign over this darkness and banish the beast to his end. Only one Savior can grasp my hands and grant me power to starve my beast. Then, on my knees before this Savior’s presence, my eyes will be opened and I will recognize the presence of my beast. The beast’s lies will lose their glitter, and the mask will dissolve as his real hideous form is revealed. On my knees before my Savior, my relationships will once again be saturated in the grace that flows from His throne. As I bow before my King, my beast will starve.
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