lost at sea

dear god,

it has been 147 days. it has been 147 days since i opened my hand. it has been 147 days since i let it go. it has been 147 days since i did what you asked and i don’t feel one bit different. in fact, god, things seem to be heavier. harder. i know that you didn’t say it would be easy. and i know that you didn’t say my heart would be healed. not right away, anyway. but i expected something. a shift. a movement. a budge. i would almost take anything at this point. because, god, if i am being honest, i want it back.

i hear it whisper in the middle of the day. i hear it whisper when the sun is shining and everything appears right in the world. i hear it whisper when the breeze blows my hair and the leaves rustle under my feet. i hear it whisper when the rain is falling and the cold forces me to tighten my coat. i hear it when the sun rises and when the sun sets. the world goes dark, but it’s voice doesn’t rest. it promises control and freedom. it promises validity and safety. i know, i know, god. it’s a lie. but right now it sounds so convincing and i long to be free of it’s taunts.

right now, in this moment. tonight. i feel like i am drowning without it. a wave. another wave. hitting me. taking me under each time. gasping for breath i resurface. all i accomplish is the taking in of more water. my lungs are filling and i can’t breathe. all i want in this moment is a breath. so you know what happens next? it promises breath. and i want to take the deal.

i don’t, obviously. because it has been 147 days of labored breathing. i hear you say, quietly, “labored breathing is still breathing.” but then i think – “doesn’t labored breathing concern doctors?” i’m sure it does. however, i am no doctor. in fact, i have no solid knowledge of how lungs actually work and i am sure that at one point i learned that the human body is made up of approximately 60% water. could i be dehydrated? is that why my body continues to take on water? is this part of the plan? maybe i could just drink water instead of breathing it into my lungs. maybe if i stop fighting a bit this might get a little easier…

except i don’t know how to rest.

i don’t know how to unclinch the muscles in my body long enough to float. i am not cut out for this sea life. my legs can’t stand the swaying and my lungs can’t handle the salt. would you please, since you can, pull me back over the ledge of the boat and sail us to dry land? if you won’t do that, would you at least walk out over the waves to me and reassure my heart that i am not alone? because, god, i am drowning out here and i cannot see. everything looks the same. the horizon has faded and the waves confuse and frighten me.

i don’t know how many more times i can go under.

i don’t know how much more water i can take on.

and i don’t know how i can live on gasps of air.

god, it has been 147 days. the seas have been still from time to time. but my fingertips are prunes and my legs are weak. my eyes are burning and my heart is tired. i still hear the voice calling to me. promising breath. or maybe it is just trying to convince me to go under. maybe it is pulling me under. so, i am asking you. pull me out of the water. or send an air tank. or do something. because i am drowning out here. and i need you. fast.

sincerely,
lost at sea

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2 thoughts on “lost at sea

  1. How does one maintain hope when God appears silent? I’d imagine part of it is we just don’t have the eyes to see what’s going on sometimes. I know waiting is damn hard work, and it is to me acted out faith. I do ask myself is there something during the time I am waiting that I should be doing in preparation for God to move where I see?

    I do know God is by far what best we can place our hope in. For all else will fail us.

    Against all odds…. don’t give up…. don’t ….. just concentrate on getting to day 148.

    I wish you well.

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