The Devil in the Dark

How am I supposed to be thankful today? How can I be glad when death can enter the room anytime he wants and take what is not his. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, whoever you're with, he can simply walk up and crook his finger and destroy everything.

.......

What? No answer? No response? Nothing to say?

......

Why would you create such a creature? A dark, loathsome thing that has no dignity or manners.

He has barged into my life three times and wrecked it. For what? What did it accomplish? I'm not a better person. I'm worse than I was the day before. I'm broken. Irreparably damaged because pieces of me are missing. I can't ever be put back together. I'm walking wounded, bleeding internally.

Did I say it was a terrible day? The sun shines and the birds sing, and the boiling cauldron we've been in has simmered down a bit. But the shadow cast by that beast does not retreat. No, he leaves his stench everywhere. Sachets of it that burst open as they rot and envelope you in a stinking cloying cloud when you least expect it that chokes you, burns your eyes, and wrings your insides until you want to scream. To what end?

And he cares not who he strikes. Tiny babies and old men. Young men and old women. Beautiful girls and ugly crones. It doesn't matter. I often wonder if the destruction he leaves in his wake gives him pleasure.

Despite what Touched by an Angel would have you believe, death is not an attractive man in a lovely suit holding your hand while you die. He isn't kind, loving, or gracious. He's the uninvited guest at the table. The stalker peering through the windows or around the corner. He's the unconcerned onlooker who watches you as you drown but never moves to rescue you.

Death is not a gentleman. He is the Devil in the dark.

And you created him. Through Him, all things were made, and without Him, nothing was made that has been made. 

There is no comfort for the lives he destroys. Time doesn't heal these wounds. We struggle to keep them covered until the next attack.


Note:
(This blog is, and has always been, my conversations with God. Sometimes they're direct talks, meaning, I am actually talking and leaving a response to my comments that I feel inspired to leave. You can believe they're my own comments if you like. Other times, I simply write about what is in my heart. Today, my heart is wounded and hurting.

My belief is that God always understands where we are coming from. He isn't confused. We might be confused, but He isn't. And when I need to tell him how bad my situation is, He is not intimidated by my anger, frustration, and pain. So, if this post offended you, I'm sorry you're offended. You can talk to Him if you'd like but don't pray for me if you are offended. You aren't serving the same loving, understanding, and patient God that I am. I don't need prayers to strange gods on my behalf.)

#ConversationswithHim

Blue Sky Promises

I am so hungry.

Well, there sure is a lot of food on that table. Where do you want to start?

It isn't real.

So, what is the real problem here? You're hungry. What are you hungry for?

That's just it. I don't know. I've wracked my brain trying to figure out what is wrong and . . . it eludes me.

I've had several calls from you. 

Well, at least now I know you got them.

Now, let's not be flip.

I'm just trying to let you know how I feel.

I got that message, too.

There is this enormous gaping hole I can't fill. And it seems to grow larger every day. I think . . . I think that . . .

That?

I think I'm overreacting and no one really cares, anyway. It's been a pretty rotten day. I slept badly last night and didn't get enough sleep. I got up and had coffee and I fell asleep reading my Bible. I was so tired. I must have slept badly in the chair. A storm moved in and I woke up feeling as if a truck had hit me. I've not been well since.

...

What? No advice? Nothing?

What do you want me to say?

What do I want you to say? Really? I don't even know what I want. Do you expect me to know what you want? In fact, I think that's the problem. What exactly do you expect from me? I'm pretty much useless. I can't do anything I wanted to do. I'm so isolated that I could be on an island and no one would even know. I was in the kitchen and Sarah asked me who I was talking to! I don't even know anymore when I talk out loud to myself or am talking in my head. What do I want you to say? Well, anything would be nice. Or maybe it wouldn't. If it isn't nice, I don't think I want to know. I've had enough of the other stuff.

You're tired. 

I am more than tired. I'm wasted. Hollow. Vacant. Void. Empty. Deserted. Abandoned.

You're not deserted or abandoned. 

Look around here, please. I want to go home and it doesn't even exist anymore except in my head.

You're homesick?

... I don't know. No. It is deeper than that. I want to go back and do one thing differently so that everything will be different. I want what is lost. I want what can't ever be. I want things the way they were before they went wrong.

I see. That's a terrible place to be. An impossible place.

I want to fix all the broken things. And they're all broken. Everything is broken. Even me. And I don't think, no, I know that none of it can be fixed.

You probably ought to think about a new name for this blog. It isn't what it used to be.

Wow. Well, neither am I.

You can't go back. The road only goes forward. You can choose to sit down and stay here. But ... it is a pretty drab spot. Lots of gloomy clouds, darkness hovering just over that hill, and I can't stay here with you. If you stay, you will be alone. 

I know. There is nothing left back there. I watched it burn.

I promise you, there are green pastures ahead. Cool streams. Blue skies. You'll get thru the dark. 

Don't tell me to be patient, please.

I won't. I heard the joke.

#ConversationsWithHim








Note: the joke is "I had patients. They all died."

Booboos

I've managed to get through the holidays relatively unscathed by the darkness that has so often accompanied this time of year.

Yes, you've done well.

Truth is, I've been too sick to notice what month it was, never mind what anniversary. I was sick through Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year. I totally forgot my wedding anniversary... even though my son got married on the same date. I didn't remember until he posted something on Facebook. And the anniversary of Jerry's death... I remembered the day after.

How did you feel about that?

Horrible. Like I'd done something wrong.

Life goes on. 

Really? Cliches?

I invented them... well, I said things that others made into cliches. 

I know I've used a bunch of them. Anyway, so, today things got dark. It sort of rolled in like a fog, I felt it approaching yesterday and today it just settled over me. I didn't want to be alone but Sarah went home for the weekend.I honestly was looking forward to some alone time.

How long did that last?

About 5 minutes. Well, actually longer but the heaviness just sat there. It is past my bedtime and I know if I go to bed I'll not rest well. I'm in pain, too, so it isn't helping. My RA meds finally wore off.

..........

What am I missing?

I don't know if you're missing anything

I'm not going to write a sigh or the mental laugh that I just had but I thought you knew everything?

What makes you think you're missing anything?

Because I don't feel like I get anything right.

You've felt better; I don't mean pain wise.

It was just a fluke.

I don't do flukes. Unless you're talking about liver flukes. I did those. 

All right. I admit. I've had a more positive attitude. I've felt like ...

Go on, say it. And don't give me that look.

I've felt like some things were ... right.

There. That didn't hurt, did it?

Actually . . .

Stop.

I feel terrible.

Had you bothered to have a conversation with me earlier, I might have been able to alleviate some of your stress. You choose to wrestle with it and have suffered because of it. You come now and expect me to kiss your wounds and make it all better. I can't. Unattended wounds tend to get infected if left untreated. You know this as well as I do. Yet, you let it fester. 

Uh. . .

I'm not done. Yes, I could just wipe it all away but if I did that every time you hurt, you'd never learn anything. You have a choice to live in a bubble or live life. The reality is that life, real life, hurts. It hurts tremendously. To have life, you must hurt. If you don't, you're not living. However, when it hurts, you have a physician who can get you through the rough spots. You'll have wounds, you'll bleed, and you'll have scars. You'll just live life through it. 

.......

I'm done now.

I guess I just forgot.

If I had a nickel....

I think I'm going to bed now. I'm sure rest will be good for me.

#ConversationsWithHim