it’s past midnight.

i’m sitting on the floor of my closet.  the carpet is scratching at my ankles and my heels, the only parts of me that are in actual contact.  the middle finger of my right hand is becoming best friends with the backspace key — i’ll write a sentence, then three, only to erase them and try again.

the words aren’t flowing.

i don’t know why it’s sometimes so easy to scribble on these white walls,

and other times it feels so impossible.

it’s like climbing a mountain, except it’s nothing like climbing a mountain.  it’s not like anything except what it is.

so what is it?

it’s looking inward at the tangled mess of thread and anxiety, of ink stains and coffee grounds, of the messy hurts that have been tucked away for so long

— that i’ve so neatly sidestepped for so long —

and it’s hunting for the loose end.

except there is no loose end.


daylight,

it was a rough night;

i’ve been having a lot of those lately.  tossing-and-turning, waking up from nightmares kind of nights.  a circles-under-eyes reflection stares back at me every morning, sighing as she braces herself for the day, arming herself with Jesus and with coffee and with some concealer for those dark-side-of-the-moon crescents that won’t go away.

and here’s what Jesus armed me with today:

image1About two years ago, I picked up my bible with a small group of college kids, opened it to James, and began to study the word for the first time.  Guys, my little human mind took nineteen years to wrap itself around the space between “read” and “study” — they’re two totally different things.  I’m back here today, when my strength fails me, reading “every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights who does not change like shifting shadows,” ’cause, friends, God’s got this and he’s got me and he’s got you; whether we make good or bad grades, whether relationships thrive or founder, and whether we believe he’s got it or not because he is good, amen.

 

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