I awaken every morning in search of what I need to fill me; I know His name is Jesus. I study and search His Word, I pray, I sing His praises but I still come home to an empty apartment full to the brim with silence. My heart silently and often not-so-silently weeps; I pray this season will soon pass. I am exhausted by the quiet, the lack of touch and loneliness of my soul. I return from work at the end of the day to a silent evening. I rarely cook - what's the point of a meal if there is no one with which to share it? Conversation evades me at every turn.
It's like a vicious merry-go-round: get on, go to work, get off, go to sleep. I think the ticket taker has either forgotten to stop the horses or he decided to quit his job and told no one to stop the ride.
I really don't understand how so many have triumphed. When I think of the song It is well with my soul, I have no clue how the writer penned that song after he buried his son, the Chicago fire destroyed every real estate investment he had, and his four beloved daughters drowned while they were making their way across the ocean to a time of rest and restoration. How did he get up and go on? And yet, he did.
I long for that response in me - to desire to go on despite the fact that my very core has been upended. His voice of truth tells me I can do nothing in my own power; I must hand my life over to Him daily knowing that His mere voice calms the storms, raises people from the dead, turns water into wine and feeds thousands with a small basket of bread and fish.
I don't know what faith or knowledge or lack of relationship I am missing - but I pray I find it soon.
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