The Mask 


			The Mask 
			Don't be fooled by me.
			Don't be fooled by the mask I wear.
			For I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks - 
			masks that I'm afraid to take off
			-and none of them is me.
			Pretending is an art that is second nature with me, 
			but don't befooled. I give the impression that I'm secure,
			that all is sunny and ruffled with me, within as well as 
			without; that confidence is my name, and coolness is my
			game; that the waters are calm, and I'm in command and I
			need no one.  But don't believe it. Please don't.

			My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my
			mask-my ever-varying and ever-concealing mask.
			Beneath lies no smugness, no coolness, no complacence.
			Beneath dwells the real me - in confusion, in fear, in
			loneliness. But I hide this; I don't want anybody to
			know it. I panic at the thought of my weekness being
			exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide
			behind, a nonchalant sophisticated facade to help me 
			pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows. 
			But such a glance is precisely my salvation - my only 
			salvation. And I know it. It's the only thing that can
			liberate me from myself, from my own self-built prison
			walls, from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
			But I don't tell you this.I don't dare. I'm afraid to.
			I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by love and
			acceptance. I'm afraid that you'll think less of me, 
			that you'll laugh, and that your laugh will kill me.
			I'm afraid that deep down inside I'm nothing, that
			I'm just no good, and that you'll see and reject me.
			So I play my games-my desperate pretending games-with
			the facade of assurance on the outside and a trembling
			child within. And so begins the parade of masks, the 
			glittering but empty parade of masks. And my life becomes
			a front. I idly chatter with you in the suave tones of
			surface talk. 

			I tell you everything that's really nothing
			-nothing of what's crying within me. So when I'm going
			through my routine, don't be fooled by what I'm saying.
			Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm NOT 
			saying......what I would like to be able to say.....
			what for survival I need to say, but I can't say.
			I dislike the hiding.  HONESTLY I do.  I dislike the
			superficial phony game I'm playing. I'd really like to
			be genuine. I'd really like to be spontaneous,and me; 
			but you have to help me. 

			You have to help me by holding out your hand, 
			even when that's the last thing I seem to want or need.
			Each time you are kind and gentle and
			encouraging, each time you try to understand because
			you really care, my heart begins to grow wings, very
			feeble wings, but wings. With your sensitivity and
			sympathy, and your power of understanding, I can 
			make it. You breathe life into me. It will not be
			easy for you. A long conviction of worthlessness builds
			strong walls. But love is stronger than strong walls, 
			and therein lies my hope. 

			Who am I? you may wonder. 
			I am someone you know very well.
			I am every man,
			every woman, 
			every child.....
			every human you meet.

			Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands,
			but with gentle hands, 
			for a child is very sensitive, 
			and I AM a child.  
			(author unknown)


			Love is patient,
			love is kind. 
			It does not envy, 
			it does not boast, 
			it is not proud.
			It is not rude, 
			it is not self-seeking, 
			it is not easily angered, 
			it keeps no record of wrongs.

			Love does not delight in evil
			but rejoices with the truth.

			It always protects,
			always trusts, 
			always hopes, 
			always perseveres.

			Love never fails. 
		
			1 Cor 13:4-8(NIV)