I’m incredibly tired. I have been since about 2 o’clock this afternoon. And yet, I’m awake. Typing. I watched a train run through LaGrange this afternoon; I watched it crawl, I watched each burdensome car lumber by, I watched the wheels move only because they were forced to, clunk-clunk, clunk-clunking as they went. I watched as, miracle of miracles, the crawl and lurch lessened – the heavy, the burdensome, began to move with something like grace, something like flying, to a force that would not be slowed down, would not be stopped. I thought about how all of this was accomplished by one engine pulling, straining, tirelessly until momentum is gained. I wondered aimlessly what would happen if there were an engine in the back too – pushing; if the cars would just crumple up into a heap in the middle. That’s my mind now – the train moving something like gracefully at a force that won’t ever be stopped. That’s why I’m awake. Typing. I’m trying to slow it down.

I had thought that maybe, since my mind is going, I would write the next chapter of my book. It’s due on Monday and I generally reserve writing it for Sunday night, but I’d rather not. So, I opened a Word document and began to write. What came out was not, however, the next chapter of my book. What came out was a potential rant and moan of pathetic measure. It began “I’m tired” and could have gone on for a very long time if I’d let it about how I sometimes feel lonely and misunderstood and how I’m tired all of the time and how I’m broken and how I don’t understand things and how other people are broken and how they don’t understand things and how I’m learning volumes-full about God and who he is and who I am and how it’s changing the way I live and breathe, and I”m spending time in his word every day, and I’m digging deep into it and into him, but somehow I feel like my relationship with him is at a standstill, and how the heck does that even happen because so much has changed at the very core of me, and how I’m not supposed to doubt myself, but I don’t even realize that I’m doing it half the time, so how am I supposed to stop doing it, and what if I’m just wrong, and how could I have this much to rant about when the weather was so glorious and when there is poetry, and when the Psalms speak to my very soul, and wait a second… life is good. Yet, low and behold I’ve somehow talked myself into this page full of… what it’s full of. I’m not denying the above – I’m not letting it swallow me. That’s flat-out dumb. Choose life. So I’m choosing life… and instead of going on about all of the above in depth, like I wanted to, I wrote this:

I’m tired. Weary.
And I shouldn’t be.
I won’t believe Satan’s lies –
I feel them on the wind.
I hear his breath beside me –
he’s waiting so patiently.
So very patiently.
And I feel his breath,
hear the wind,
feel his smile.
I will not hear.
will not believe
I know the truth.
know. The truth,
know the. Truth
know of love,
Know I’m loved,
know. Love.
So shut up.
Move on.
Or
Face
Me
If you dare.

 

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