Trust the ultimate trust fund-Colossians 3:23
My body’s a twisted wreck. I couldn’t stop the urge to cry when she jabbed her thumb into the protruding discs in my neck. It was the muscle spasms that finally forced my tingling fingers to hit call and make the appointment.
Shoulders don’t belong under your ears but for all they’ve heard the last couple of decades…sort of like peeling a kid off their mother’s calf on milking day. I know. The horror. That was intentional. Tension is a human reflex to living nightmares. I want to be so much stronger than human but it hurts.
My devotion this morning was Compassion. He called me his beloved and invited me to love first, like always. Who loves first? First loves seconds. No! First loves first! But I’m your favorite right? Crickets. For once I’m not apologizing.
I did the best I could. But sometimes it feels like the only thing they’re receptive to is taking. When? Is it ever enough?
I listened for an answer but couldn’t hear. Enough with the winks and whispers. Just say it! Sometimes he’s the father. Other times he’s the man who takes me far from the maddening crowds. Then still he’s the brother, stranger, friend. But too often lately, he’s an infuriating mystic, speaking in tongues I can’t understand. How many decibels declare we’ve paid enough? Or is it blood cells, barbs or bars?
Despite all that I went looking for him again because he’s the only place I know to go when nothing makes sense; problematic given the source. Will you set my heart on fire or just burn me? I turn to you for answers and you give me another question. How much questing before you just take me home? How many times do I have to prove my love before…we feel it, see it and can hold it? What did you give me these for? The short, wrinkled, veiny digits baring cryptic marks, in which, supposed Palm readers claimed to see the fruits of our labor blossoming. Haven’t I always chosen you? What then, have you chosen me for? Water for chocolate? Blood for wine? Your will or mine?
You were born in Providence.
Yea, but grew up in Woonsocket.
Now you’re just being a pain in the ass.
You don’t have an ass. You’re an ethereal being. And I’m not a fucking saint! I want that white sofa from Pottery Barn, laser resurfacing, no more bullshit and efficacy!
How does it feel to want?
Shut up Dante.
You know what? No. There’s nothing here worth trusting. Your will be done and wrap it up mister cause…what is this? Bag of twisted, wanting bones and an ego? Your will. You. I just want you.
Do you know what he gave me when I knelt as his feet, silently asking for mercy? Work. One more cosmic assignment like those loose feathers from strange birds that float out of nowhere and land in the street. I’m too tired to tell you how tired it makes me to think there’s more…and yet, there is. Because I AM. How much?
According to the map, all of it.