The Invisible Ropes

For your ways are in full view of the Lord, and he examines all your paths. The evil deeds of the wicked ensnare them; the cords of their sins hold them fast. For lack of discipline they will die, led astray by their own great folly. Proverbs 5:21-23

Congressman Armando Bastos moved through the world with the confidence of a man who left no tracks. He was a master in the art of the double life. In public, he was the defender of family and good morals, his image carefully cultivated in fiery speeches and photos with his smiling wife. In secret, he was a man of voracious appetites: illicit deals closed in private rooms, campaign promises exchanged for favors, and a discreet apartment on the other side of the city for clandestine meetings.

He believed that power was his shield. His intelligence, his ability to manipulate and to anticipate others, made him, in his own mind, invisible. He did not think about the “eyes of the Lord”; the only eyes that mattered to him were those of the cameras and the voters, and he knew how to deceive those.

He did not realize that every dishonest act, every lie told, every promise broken, was another thread being woven. Fine, invisible threads at first, but which, together, began to form a thick, strong rope.

Things began to tighten in a subtle way. A trusted aide, the only one who knew his business dealings in depth, resigned abruptly, citing “personal reasons.” Armando felt a chill. Had he said too much?

Then, during a radio interview, the journalist asked an unexpectedly specific question about an overbilled contract. It was a glancing blow, which he managed to deflect with his usual rhetoric, but it left him in a cold sweat. How had that information leaked?

He felt watched, but there was no one there. It was as if the universe itself were conspiring to expose his secrets. He began to see threats everywhere. He became paranoid, reviewing his conversations, checking his statements, mistrusting his own shadow. The man who thought himself free was, in fact, a prisoner of fear.

The final knot was tightened not by a political enemy, but by his own actions. In his haste to cover up one of his affairs, he used his personal cell phone to send a message that should have been deleted. He forgot that the device was synchronized with the family’s tablet.

That night, his wife, while helping their son with a school research project, opened the message history and saw everything. The rope, woven from months of deceit, finally bound him.

The ruin was not an immediate public scandal. It was the icy silence of his wife. It was the look of disappointment in his son’s eyes. It was the crumbling of his family life, the one pillar that, secretly, he still valued. His world, which had seemed so solid, was a sham held together by lies that were now unraveling.

Sitting in his lavish office, he looked out the window at the illuminated city. He had always felt above it all. Now, he felt crushed. He had not been destroyed by an investigation or an adversary. He was held captive by his own evil deeds. Every wrong choice, every wrong path, had become a thread in the rope that now suffocated him.

He died for lack of instruction, as the proverb says. He died to the life he knew, not for lack of intelligence, but for an excess of folly. The folly of believing he could live in the shadows, forgetting that there are eyes that see everything, and that, in the end, every man is a prisoner of the ropes he himself weaves.

(Made with AI)

This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom

https://books2read.com/u/3knogL

Job’s Pains

Job was a right and just man,

He did not follow the ways of wicked men.

He followed in the way of the Lord,

Job had God as his protector.

 

Job had prosperity in everything,

His house always had all the good things.

He walked with God all his days,

To the Lord, his life was dedicated.

 

Satan walked through the earth and went to the Lord,

God talked to him about the fidelity of Job.

Then, Satan decided to test Him,

Saying if Job were poor, he would not love Him.

 

The proposed challenge, the Lord, accepted,

And Satan went to Job and took away all he had.

Even in great distress, Job did not complain,

He knew all he had was the Lord who had given,

And That One, who gave, also had taken.

 

Satan went to speak with God again,

About Job, God made new comments.

Another time, Satan wished to challenge him,

So, God allowed Satan to sicken him.

A deep sore in Job was put,

All his flesh was bruised and hurt.

Even passing through so great suffering,

Job did not open his mouth to complain.

He accepted everything that happened to him,

And against the Lord, he did not say anything.

This poem is part of the book Christian Poetry Volume V.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/m0JKpA

Spoken Words

People like to talk about me,

They say bad words against me.

 

They say words to despise me,

They say things to devalue me.

 

All people do this freely,

Exposing their minds are malign.

 

The tongues are very malicious,

They are like poisonous cobras.

 

Their only mission is destroying me,

They span venom to wound me.

 

I will protect myself from all this,

There will be a shield in my ears.

 

The poisoned word, I will not listen,

Good words; I will speak a ton of them.

 

My mouth is a source of blessing,

They will say what is the heart's pleasing.

 

My words will always be beautiful,

With life, they will always be full.

I will declare words of encouragement and victory,

I will state how my story will be.

 

I will speak of the wonders of the Lord,

I will worship His love and favor.

 

I will sing of the plans of my God,

I will sing I am a son of the Sovereign Lord.

 

I will give thanks because He has saved me,

I will give thanks for the life He gave me.

 

Good will be spread from my lips,

Undoing all the evil words and deeds.

 

The blessing will win curse and condemnation,

And my good words will be my protection.

This poem is part of the book Words of Faith.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/meLvPr

Your Own Fountain

Drink water from your own cistern, running water from your own well. May your fountain be blessed, and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth. A loving doe, a graceful deer—may her breasts satisfy you always, may you ever be intoxicated with her love. Proverbs 5:15, 18-19

The silence at Vagner and Sabrina’s dinner table was louder than any argument. Between them was a chasm of routine and exhaustion. Their conversations, once full of dreams and laughter, were now reduced to reports on the execution of daily tasks.

Vagner, an overworked engineer, found refuge in overtime at the office. Sabrina, who had paused her design career to care for their children, found solace in the chats of her online mothers’ groups. Both were thirsty, but they were seeking water from distant springs. Their own fountains, once clear and bubbling, were becoming muddied by neglect.

The silent crisis reached its peak on a Friday night. Vagner came home late, once again, and found Sabrina asleep on the sofa, her phone fallen beside her. He looked at her. He saw the lines of fatigue on her face; the same woman he had fallen in love with in college had lost her glow under the weight of daily life. And he felt a pang of guilt. He was not being fair.

The next day, he canceled his appointments and did something he had not done in years. He invited Sabrina out for coffee, just the two of them.

“I feel like we are becoming business partners, not a couple,” he confessed, the vulnerability in his voice surprising them both. “I’m tired, Sabrina. But mostly, I am thirsty. Thirsty for what we used to have.”

Sabrina looked at him, and the barriers she had built around her heart began to crumble.

“Me too, Vagner. Me too.”

That day, they made a decision. They decided to “drink water from their own cistern.”

They started with small gestures. Vagner began to leave work on time, rejecting the culture of excess that kept him away from home. The first night he arrived for dinner was awkward, almost formal. But then, he started asking about her day—not about her tasks, but about her feelings.

Sabrina, in turn, made an effort to see Vagner not just as the provider, but as the man she loved. She sent him a text in the middle of the day, not with a shopping list, but with an old photo of them from when they first started dating, with the caption: “Remembered us.”

They declared a “screen-free zone” after nine o’clock at night. Instead of getting lost in their own digital worlds, they would sit on the veranda. At first, the silence was uncomfortable. But then, they began to talk. About fears, dreams, about the funny things the kids did. The spring that had seemed dry began to flow again.

The turning point was subtle. One evening, Vagner was frustrated with a problem at work. His first instinct was to isolate himself, to stew in his anger. Instead, he shared it with Sabrina. She did not give him a technical solution, but she listened to him with an empathy that soothed his soul. Her embrace was a source of comfort that satisfied him always. He felt captivated not just by her body, but by the refuge she represented.

Their love was no longer the frantic love of youth, but something deeper, more resilient. It was a love watered by the daily choice to turn toward each other.

A few months later, a recently divorced colleague vented to Vagner.

“The passion was gone, man. It became routine. I went looking outside for what I no longer had at home.”

Vagner looked at his friend with a compassion born of experience. He thought about how close he had been to that same chasm.

“The problem,” Vagner said, with a wisdom he did not know he possessed, “is that we spend our lives looking for new, exotic springs. And we do not realize that the purest fountain, the one that truly quenches thirst, is the one already in our own yard. We just need to take care of it.”

That night, when he got home, he found Sabrina dancing in the kitchen with the children. She smiled at him over their shoulders, and in that smile, he saw the same woman of his youth. And he felt like the richest man in the world, forever captivated by the love he had almost let dry up.

(Made with AI)

This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom

https://books2read.com/u/3knogL

Preoccupations

Preoccupation is something natural for human beings,

Everyone preoccupies with what will happen.

Everyone desires to know how the future will be,

Everyone wants to be ready for tomorrow.

 

This search for preparation can generate anxiety,

The mind is filled with an infinity of imagination.

One creates inside themselves all types of scenarios,

Each person imagines everything that can take place.

 

These imaginations turn into a kind of fear,

They root in the heart and produce anguish.

The person is concerned all the time; there is no rest.

They get restless and without knowing what to do.

 

And for most of the time, the preoccupation is useless,

Because these are things that nobody can predict.

One experiences anticipated and meaningless suffering,

The suffering is based only on expectancy.

 

It is needed help to be freed from anxiety,

The person must look high and ask for help.

They must remember that one who controls all,

They must remember there is an Almighty God.

 

 

This God is able to relieve this heavy anguish,

He will take off preoccupation, fear, and anxiety.

The person will live in peace with himself again,

They will smile again and have faith in a better future.

 

The Lord brings an inexplicable and endurance peace,

Even if destiny shows itself totally uncertain.

God calms the heart giving it confidence,

Giving it great hope amid the chaos.

 

Whenever the person thinks to get desperate,

They will remember there is no reason for this.

The person will deliver their anxieties to the Lord,

And they will rest waiting for His marvelous action.

This poem is part of the book Words of Faith.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/meLvPr

Couple That Helps Each Other

The couple must always help themselves,

One another must support themselves.

Together, in God’s faith, they will fortify,

Then, they will face all the challenges in their lives.

 

When someone is in deep sadness,

The other needs to treat him with kindness.

And doing things to the other to improve his mood,

For the other to get strong and good.

 

The man who is feeling weak,

He needs his wife to console him.

She will help with many things,

They will overcome everything.

 

The woman who is in affliction time,

She needs the man of his life.

They will pass through everything that happens,

They will win because God is with them.

This poem is part of the book Christian Poetry Volume IV.

See the book:

https://books2read.com/u/bpMr16

The Taste of Wormwood

My son, pay attention to my wisdom, turn your ear to my words of insight, that you may maintain discretion and your lips may preserve knowledge. For the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil; but in the end she is bitter as gall, sharp as a double-edged sword … You will say, “How I hated discipline! How my heart spurned correction! I would not obey my teachers or turn my ear to my instructors. And I was soon in serious trouble in the assembly of God’s people.” 5:1-4, 12-14

My name is Fernando, and this is the autopsy of a life. I groan now, at the end, not from physical pain, but from something deeper. It is the sound of a soul consumed from within. My flesh and my body are spent, not by a disease, but by a choice. A choice that began with the taste of honey and ended with the bitter taste of wormwood.

It all started at a happy hour, six months ago. Life had grown lukewarm. My marriage to Paula, good and stable, had become predictable. My job, secure, but without passion. And then, Rebeca appeared, the new analyst on my team. She laughed at all my jokes. Her lips, as the book I used to read says, dripped honey.

“You’re so underrated here, Fernando,” she told me that night, her voice smoother than oil. “They don’t see your brilliance.”

Her words were a balm to my dormant ego. Paula loved me, I knew, but she knew my flaws, my insecurities. Rebeca saw only the brilliance she herself had invented.

The flirting became a secret lunch. The lunch became a late afternoon coffee. Each step seemed small, harmless. I told myself it was just friendship, that I was in control. I ignored the wisdom my father had taught me, the instruction that echoed from a distant past. I turned away from understanding.

Her path was unstable, and I did not know it. She lived in a world of intense emotions and instant gratification. And I, a fool, dived in headfirst. The first time I was physically unfaithful, I felt a wave of guilt, but also a wave of power. I had crossed a line and nothing terrible had happened.

But her end, as the proverb says, is as bitter as wormwood. The initial sweetness began to turn sour. The flirting became demands. The admiration became jealousy. The excitement became anxiety. I lived with my phone on silent mode, my heart racing with every notification. My feet were going down to death—the death of my peace, of my integrity. Every step of mine took hold of the grave of deceit.

The sharp, double-edged sword cut in every direction. It cut my relationship with Paula. She began to sense my distance.

“You’re distant, Nando. What happened?” she would ask, and every question was torture. It cut my finances, with the expensive gifts and secret dinners to keep Rebeca satisfied. It cut my performance at work, my mind always divided, exhausted.

And, in the end, the sword turned against me. Paula found out. Not with a dramatic scene from a soap opera, but with a silent sadness that was a thousand times worse. She found the messages. The castle of lies I had built collapsed on top of me.

Now, I am here, in this rented apartment that smells of loneliness. The divorce took half of my assets. The promotion I had coveted went to someone else, as my “brilliance” had faded. Rebeca? She blamed me for the disaster and disappeared, probably in search of another “brilliant man” to charm.

I hate discipline, and my soul despises reproof. I ask myself, “How did I get to this point?” And the answer is simple and terrible. I arrived here because, for a moment of sweetness, I sold all my honor.

And the taste that remains in the mouth, in the end, is not that of honey. It is the bitter taste of regret. The taste of wormwood.

(Made with AI)

This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom

https://books2read.com/u/3knogL