I see your eyes flitting to the corners of your world. Even while you sleep. You search. Your mind pulses ceaselessly like the tic. tic. tic. of some intense metronome. You reign over your body. Sleep. Discipline. Exercise. Exercise. Sleep. And your body reigns over you.
I’d like very much for my tears to fall together like some healing balm. I’d like to learn the art of war and use it to slay this monster. I’d like my whispers in the dark to lift this spell.
For years my friend, my close friend, my precious friend, has walked taut underneath her tormenters: anxiety, depression, heaviness. Like a thick-stroked question mark carved out beside all her reasons to live. She walks this line, taking her world in 10-calorie sections, and counting her days like the ‘stride stride stride’ of her morning run.
Once, she told me not to worry, that she still weighed more than she did at her worst. Dark silence. Worst. Pronounced like a euphemism for best. This is a construction that seems to hold the world together. Barely. Like glue made from flour and water.
She loves Jesus. And. Still this darkness. She’s raked the corner of him begging for release. And still this. Sadness.
But. There are true things. For my friend, the presence and love of Jesus are palpable. I see her returning. Rubbing grace into her skin like lotion in the wintertime. Jesus knows about our suffering. “This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do…” (Hebrews 4:15) and he loves us like nobody else ever has loved us.
Lots of times in our lives, we are asked to wake. And walk beside hurt. We might excuse ourselves because we are helpless. We might accuse God because he is not.
And then. And again. We call up to remembering. We rub grace into our skin. And let true things fall on us. Like heavy kisses on our ceaseless, flitting eyes.
I love the imagery. This is so beautifully written.