Stories from a life in progress.


I've spent an awful lot of today crying.

Sometimes you can't anticipate how something will take you, I suppose.  I'm never comfortable about money, but seeing a negative balance at my bank landed so much harder than I even would have guessed.

It's not the number with real impact, it's the negative.  It doesn't tell me I have a negative, it says I'm the negative.  Less than nothing.  A hole.  An emptiness.

This negative raises up such terror in me, a shrieking misery of longing and hopelessness that says "you are not worthy, you will never feel wanted, you will not succeed.  This world is scarcity and hardship and disappointment, and there's nothing more for you than to live a choking, tiny life, the one you deserve, until you grow sick and die of it.  Don't worry, you won't be missed."

Fear gets awfully melodramatic.

I know it isn't true.  But today only my head knows it.  My heart is really hurting, and I don't know how to bandage it up and make it feel better.

I'm praying a lot.  I'm crying to let the pressure out.  Sometimes I'm just sitting and not thinking very much, because I am all worn out with this.

I'm making myself say, "Let your will be done, Lord."  I'm adding, "... because I know your will IS ACTUALLY GOOD whether it feels like it every minute or not, and I trust in the end of this I'll see what you are doing."

I'm saying, "Please help, Jesus.  I have no idea what to actually ask for so just please help."

I have no idea what happens next.  You'll have to tune in next time, kids, and I'll have to stay tuned too.