It's late at night. Sometimes there's snow, strangely enough, although usually instead it's rain, or it's dry. In reality that has little to do with anything, but in a way it's a rather important fact. The night and I seem to be spiritual twins, for whatever I feel, the night seems to reflect. Maybe it's just my own projections. But the cold, dry nights are some of the most bland and empty times, and the rainy ones are either times of relief or times of sadness.
I glance down at my hands, watch the veins that continually supply these multi-branched limbs with the fluid that keeps them functioning. Why are they so useless these days? Why is the mind on the other end of the bloodstream so empty of inspiration and meaning? What's wrong with the world?
No, not the world. Just me.
What's wrong with me?
Although I see that face staring me down every night, I don't have an answer. I think it has something to do with love, or rather the lack of it. Where does motivation come from? I think it used to exist somewhere in the skybox of the mind, but it's flown away, and I haven't heard hardly a whisper for months.
What's wrong with me? Why can't I be bothered to actually live my life? Since when did minor inconvenience become an impassable obstacle? Why is inspiration so hard to catch? Why does everyone seem to be better at this than I am?
I don't know. It hurts to know that I'm here because of me. It hurts more to know that I'm not strong enough to get myself out of this, and even more to think that it's only impossible because I believe it to be so. Why am I so gullible, content to live this miserable lie? What is there to be gained from this that I can't live without?
Lord, make me human again. Let the flesh that you gave your breath to breathe your Spirit once more, not this stagnant miasma of procrastination.
If my heart were connected to my brain, I might realize that this time just proves what a sinner I am. But that link is nonexistent now. Maybe that explains the emptiness, the lack of soul I feel in my day to day life. I want to know what it means to actually be a man of God; at least those snippets that I once had. This is almost nothing at all. My heart is alone, and my mind receives no validation for its faith, and overall it just makes believing harder and harder every day. Who knew that the 12 short inches between the two could be farther than the distance from one end of the galaxy to the other?
What's going on here? Who is this man who lives in my body? He sure isn't me. Not anymore. The man of God I once knew wouldn't tolerate this. But this man does nothing to even try. I can't even kick this impostor out. I'm out in spiritual no-man's-land right now, and my brain's getting maybe half a bar of connection to my heart every fifty miles or so. But we can't stop at gas stations, because we're on foot, and every moment leaves us further behind where we should be in life, further behind where God "wants us to be".
Why am I not comforted by the fact that God has a plan for me?
Maybe it's because I think I have to do something to earn that planned life.
Maybe if I do what I should instead of lazing around, I'll finally be the perfect student, the perfect artist, the perfect brother, the perfect son, and the rest of my life will come together, and I'll get married, and be happy forever, and go to Heaven at the end.
Something's wrong with this picture.
I remember now talking with my good friend just yesterday; I remember him telling me that at the end of this tunnel, God has my perfection and my ultimate good in mind. It doesn't make it any easier, but every single tear that falls is water for the growth of new life, and every storm that I encounter is not by accident, for it will give way to new seasons. The lightning strikes serve only to help me wake up, and the gloom of the rain is not meant ultimately for my misery, but for my transformation. Only by the dark do we truly appreciate the light; only through pain do we recognize beauty; only by being alone will I realize that I have never been alone, and I never will be.
It isn't easy, you know, sitting alone, painfully aware of every wasted second, mind too weak to break from routine. Willpower is a muscle, and disuse may wear it down to the point of breaking. Only when I truly think of this do I realize that each step rebuilds it, and that the only way I can defeat these demons is through the Lord's grace that lets me take those steps.
I don't know what I would do without him. I don't know how I could bear it if I had never known my Friend. He has saved me so many times, probably more than I can realize, and he's guided me toward much more joy than I could have ever found on my own. At times, he is the only thing I have to hold onto, to keep living for. This Rock is the only thing that has kept me from going under.
Time to raise the sails. This storm is fierce, but I'm not alone this time.
