May 27, 2016

White Haven Beach (Queensland, Australia)

I’ve had to wait for the bus, a waiter/waitress, a seat, a response, the perfect time to leave a conversation, etc.

I’ve had to wait for death several times, too. I’m tired of it. You grow up when you learn what that means, and I hope some get to escape that kind of knowledge.

I built walls once, to cope with the first gaping hole, and I guess after the years went on I never took them down. They started as partitions but transformed into fortresses. In my defense I hardly think I got a fair chance to dismantle them. Pun intended. Somewhere in my mind I resolved that emotion is weakness. There are different kinds of mourners, but if I was to be one I would be the one who could do what frenzied emotions cannot, namely offer fortitude and help. I refused to be impaired and add to the problem because emotions are reckless and untrustworthy.

And so here I am. Blank. Subconsciously processing and preparing. Waiting. Again.



May 24, 2016

It’s me.

It’s been a while.

I’ve¬†disrupted, interrupted, and stopped you so many times but now, when we need to talk, I’m finding it difficult to pick up where we left off. You’ve dried up to no more than a trickle, and that’s my fault. But how does a tiny stream return to its former glory? What source will turn this weak flow into a pounding current? I remember when your voice was my internal compass, steady and sure, before I drowned it out with the white noise of Netflix, YouTube, and my blind desires.

Quiet my soul.
Quiet, my soul.

I have had the audacity to believe myself unworthy of your grace for too long, and my soul is dying. A voice that is not yours is rising up in me and it is dark and cruel and hateful. My guard is down and I can’t last much longer.

Bring the rain, Lord. Whether it’s a drizzle or a typhoon, bring your rain. I need to remember why and how I need you. I need to want to need you, before all the paltry promises this world can offer.