Y’know, some days, I just want to say “Screw it all.” All this pain, all this frustration. I just wanna cuss and swear until the sky falls on me or the earth just up and frickin’ swallows me.
There are days I just want to drown in the tears I cry. I want to leave my cross in the dirt next to me and just stay there, battered and exhausted, and just give up.
There are days when I find myself walking backwards, looking at everything that happened and nothing that’s coming. I want to stop looking and longing, but I can’t get my eyes to turn away for fear it’ll all disappear, and everything I’ve known will vanish.
There are days I feel absolutely nothing. And those days can be the worst of all.
And then there are all the days in-between, where I’m just not sure what I’m feeling, and for some reason, it doesn’t matter.
I don’t know much of anything. About me, about the world, about God. And more than anything else, I hate not knowing.
The thing is, I sit here at this laptop, spewing all this great-sounding stuff; I spout off advice and try to follow it myself, but then there come days when I don’t know that I believe any of it.
And yet there’s this little spark deep down that just refuses to be put out, no matter what the world throws at it, no matter what I throw at it myself. It’s always been there, and somehow it got me through my darkest moments. It’s this little thing called hope, this small but stubborn fire.
It helps me speak blessings instead of curses.
It helps me dry my eyes and shake off the dirt.
It helps me turn around and face reality.
It helps me be ok with feeling nothing.
It helps me be joyful in the days I don’t know what I’m feeling.
It helps me hold on to the crazy belief, the crucial hinge of my existence, that God knows my name, and speaks it with love.