How do I hang on to this feeling? If I try to grasp it with both hands, will it just flit away? Yesterday I was a million years old, with no hope of parole from this self-constructed prison. This morning I feel curiously like...me. [Even as I write that, my inner Puddleglum mutters something about the intransigence of contentment...]
But let us not focus on yesterday. Today, I choose to move forward. I don't even know what that looks like. I'm not even entirely certain what it means. And I know that God has been moving me forward even without my comprehension or even seeming willingness. I know I will stumble, I know I will fall, but I asked for a glimmer of hope, and awoke to find it.
Still 11/2
I feel tangentially like myself this morning. My left brain wants to take this (rare of late) opportunity to analyze the feeling, turn it around and examine it from all angles, even get down on paper what it felt like at the bottom of the pit from a cogent perspective. (Perversely, in the pit I can't see clearly enough to cobble words together, and emerging into the sunshine, coherent thoughts of the darkness flee into the corners, seeking safety.)
Of course, my right brain wants to just enjoy the moment. Thinking about the demons seems to summon them forth, to call their names. I want some free, unfettered air in which to breathe, if only for the day, and pointing my brain in the direction of The Nothing (see “The Never Ending Story”) lets the darkness seep back in around the edges. I just want to stand in the sunshine of this moment of untwisted, uncomplicated HOPE and bask in the sudden conviction that God really is answering my prayers.
That said, how can I ever unravel the darkness if I fear to look directly at it?
No comments:
Post a Comment