I've read the postmarked books that a friend of mine has. It's a really cool idea and it makes money without ever writing a book. I wish I had thought of it. People anonomously send in letters and postcards alike with their deepest darkest secrets. It's really interesting. The first few books were amusing to read, nothing serious was in it. The third edition has some heavy stuff in it, though. Sometimes it is good to tell someone or anyone your secret just to get it off your shoulders. The idea seems like a good one. Then maybe if you tell the right person, you don't feel alone or singled out. Maybe you'd feel that there are people who understand your pain and support you and even let you cry on your shoulder. In the third edition, many people admited to being raped or molested but were to embarrassed to tell anyone about it. Some were ashamed that they found that they liked it. It makes me want to cry. What kind of world do we live in?
It makes me wonder how these people live. Do they think they are beautiful or handsome? My husband has a poem on his laptop about an abundant lady. It's very descriptive. And in the end he says she is beautiful. I think that's beautiful. I wonder if these people have people in their lives that think they are beautiful. My husband tells me I'm pretty every day. I wonder if they ignore the comment with loads of faked humility of just dismiss it. I wonder if they are brave enough to apreciate it. I wonder if they've cried themselves to sleep countless nights wishing for someone to love and to know them for who they are. I wonder if they pray that God would take the shame away. I wonder how many practice the perfect smile in the bathroom mirror.
Why does life have to hurt so much? I want to cry with these people surround them with hugs and tell them I understand. Everything will be okay, there are people in life that make life worthwhile. But then I ask myself, were those empty words or not?
