It's 2:22am.
I'm sitting in my car.
I pulled over into an unknown neighbourhood when I couldn't see the road through my tears.
I don't alway expect it when it comes,
but tonight, I knew I would eventually disappear into a puddle of salt water.
I've been driving around for hours,
counting the white lines on the highway, trying to make sense of the mess I've become.
Alas, I am no further along than when I started.
It seems that for now, the answers still elude me.
All I do know, is that I'm here.
And I've got to let it happen.
Whatever it is.
With absolutely every bit of strength,
I continue to hold to the promise that this too shall pass.
Whatever this is.
And that eventually,
I'll be okay again.
That I won't run at the thought of answering even the simplest of questions.
That I will one day be able to talk about everything that Thailand was,
the absolutely incredible and the completely awful.
The joy comes in the morning, right?
When I was in BC, I sat on the end of a dock and watched the sun set
as I played guitar and sang a song with those words.
They barely made it past my lips as I fumbled around for composure,
and I realized that it's not much consolation to know the joy comes in the morning
when I am physically, emotionally and spiritually sitting on a dock watching the sun set,
knowing that this is just the beginning of a long, dark night.
---------------
It's 3:47pm.
I drove around for a while and somehow ended up here.
My phone died a while ago, and with it the music I was listening to.
I've been left with the sound of steady raindrops.
I watch each one hit my windshield and glide down,
picking up other droplets of water, and then they descend and roll off my car together.
A downward zigzag into the unknown.
How fitting.
I watch as my tears make their own zigzag pattern down my cheek.
Some days I push myself too far, not knowing or understanding the new limits of my fragile state.
I wonder how I'll ever be able to have the conversation I know needs to be had.
The words won't come.
And the ones that do feel inadequate.
As if they are missing the point of what I'm trying to convey.
The english language is so limited.
And it frustrates me knowing that I may never be able to find words big enough to encompass everything.
So I guess I'll just sit here a little longer and feel.
I'll stay in this sanctuary, this little piece of refuge that is only mine.
And I'll grasp at straws, wondering if peace will ever find me.
--------------
It's 3:57am.
I hardly ever sleep anymore.
I know I have to get up in a mere two hours to go to work, but I'm restless.
Restless.
In every sense of the word.
I'm sitting on my bedroom floor running my hands through the worn carpet.
I wonder if I'll ever go back to Thailand.
If I'll ever experience all the things I dreamed of.
The truth is, I haven't let myself think about Thailand too much.
I don't want to let myself miss it because I don't think I could handle it right now.
Leaving Thailand broke my heart.
More than I could ever accurately explain.
Watching a ministry that I loved, that I fought for, that I would have readily given my life for, completely crumble on top of me and cease to exist, broke my heart.
And now, wounded and broken, I'm trying to climb through the rubble and make my way into the daylight again.
---------------
2:34am.
I'm sitting on my kitchen floor.
My back is pressed against the fridge.
For some reason, the steady hum of electricity pulsing through it calms my anxious thoughts.
Feeling it's rhythm of cooling, the hum and sigh, makes me feel like there's some order in my life,
even if it is just a stupid fridge doing it's job.
I don't know where I am tonight.
I don't feel like myself.
I feel like I'm laying in the middle of a desert, withered and dry,
just waiting, hoping, praying, pleading for the rain.
The torrential downpour that will flood around me and rehydrate my parched skin and wilted heart.
There have been moments.
Little droplets of hope.
But it's not enough.
I need to drown in the ocean that I know is coming.
Some days I feel like I am nothing more than a pile of dry bones.
In the end of that story, God puts everyone back together and breathes new life into them.
I believe the bible is truth.
So my breath of fresh air, so to speak, must be on it's way.
But until then,
I'll just sit here, breathing in and out, in and out, feeling the heartbeat of fridge behind me,
and hope that I'll make it through tomorrow.
Just one day, one hour, one moment at a time.
And slowly, little by little,
maybe I'll start to come back to life.
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