You Go Before Me

I trust you, Jesus
'cause You go before me
You know every step, every step

Walking on Water

I feel myself sinking.

Lord, I am so afraid!

Please help! Somebody help!

"Keep your eyes on me."

I close my eyes. I take a deep breath.

I open my eyes and lock them with yours.

Author and creator.

Beginning and end.

Who could know my heart better than you do?

Waves are rising.

Skies are black.

Fear is crippling.

Still, I know,

somewhere down deep in my soul,

You are good.

You always have been.

You always will be.

I will not drown.

I repeat it out loud:

"Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus."

You are every answer.

You are every need.

I will trust in you.

I will praise you louder when the pain cuts deeper.

I will not drown.

Dear God,

I just want to feel you near.

 I just want to hear it from you-- that you're close, that you're not letting go, that you won't let me stay down forever, that you will work all things together for good because I love you.

I know you're listening. I know you're watching. I know you're defending me and protecting me even as I wait to hear you speak.

I know that I'm not spending enough time with you. I know that I should be praying more. I should be spending so much more time in your word. I know it isn't an excuse, God, but I am so weary. I feel it down in my bones, deep in my soul. Exhaustion has creeped into my body like a disease and it has claimed to own my body and mind like a property.

I know this isn't the life you intended for me. I know that there is more. Exceedingly, abundantly, immeasurably more. I'm scared that you're angry with me. But deep down, I hear a faint echo of a truth my heart once knew well: you are a good father. Like the prodigal son returning to the open arms of his Dad, I know your arms are open too. I know this is who you are.

So, here I am, God. I love you with my whole heart. I want to do better. I want to be better. I want to live fully, walking in peace and joy.

Here I am.

Here's my weak, humble offering. My heart. All of it.

Take it, God. It's yours completely. Mold it into whatever you want it to be. Make me like Jesus.

Speak to me, God. I don't deserve to hear from you but I crave your voice like water. Bring me back into the fullness of your presence.

The Longest Afternoon of My Life

Well, it's been over a year since I've written on here. I don't know why I can't seem to stay consistent. I was always a very consistent and successful student and I've never thought of myself as having commitment issues. I think it's just that life is busy: the completely dull but entirely true mantra of every full-time working adult. 

So, anyway, happy 2018.... and 2019. 

As I'm sure you could imagine (although I highly doubt you find my life and/or retelling of the events that happen in my life interesting enough to spend quality time with your brain's imagination thinking upon the subject of, well, me), so much has happened. I don't even know where to begin and I promised myself that the purpose of this blog would remain wholly intact and not adjusted over time: I spill my guts as I see fit and that's pretty much all there is to it. I sit in the moment I'm in and talk about how I'm feeling in that moment. Or I reminisce if I want to reminisce. But I will not place pressure upon myself to be an eloquent writer or make things feel "artsy" or "poetic" or even beautiful. For a high-functioning but often secretly crippling perfectionist, you have no idea how hard that it is. That's why it's important that I stick to the freedom plan of typing almost as fast as I think, an authentic look into my mind, an online diary of sorts. 

Where were we? 

Oh yes, the moment I'm in. 

This "fleeting" moment I'm in. 

Time normally goes by so quickly it makes my head spin (a common complaint among the entirety of the human race), but this week, I kid you not, has been the longest week in the existence of my life. Every moment feels like a lump of phlegm lodged in my throat that I can't seem to cough up or swallow down or get any relief from at all. It's like the clock is staring at me, laughing at me, taunting "You can never escape me."

Brady's grandma, Linda Collins, is dying. 

And amidst the grief, right in the middle of so much hurt and so many questions, time has decided to play a trick on us.

I thought it would feel like there's not enough time. And, of course, in some ways, it does. I can't explain what I mean as it completely boggles me, but it's as if every moment is dragging in cruelty. 

We don't want to let her go. How did this happen? She was fine just the other day. I can't remember the last dinner we all had together. Did we ever finally get everyone together for Thanksgiving or were we waiting until Christmas? We don't want to see her suffer anymore. What time is it? Should we go home and try to get some sleep? We don't want to be gone when she passes. But we can't keep our eyes open. Is that wrong of us? Should there be some kind of switch in us that goes superhuman-need-no-sleep mode when one of our loved ones is wrestling with life? 

We're stuck in a limbo. 

A song echoes in the caverns of my worn-out heart:

"Even when the fight seems lost, I'll praise You 

Even when it hurts like hell, I'll praise You

Even when it makes no sense to sing, 

Louder then I'll sing Your praise 

I will only sing Your praise."