breathing in the dark (a plea to myself and to God)

by rrim17

Sometimes the pain comes out of nowhere. A bolt of anxiety that shoots through my heart and spreads to my fingertips… A stab of fear that tastes like two-in-the-morning wakefulness… An infinitesimal second of loneliness that holds eternity inside of it. And suddenly the pain hits from behind and I am breathless, choking, with an ache that makes me wonder at the way we attempt to separate emotional and physical pain. They are one and the same. Anxiety has a physical flavor of pain. Fear does too. Loneliness… An aching heart leaves a bruise.

Keep breathing. It’s what I have to tell myself. Keep breathing. You will be okay. Not all unraveling is painful. Keep breathing. Keep going. Please, please…keep going.

I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel hope. I don’t feel peace. I don’t even have my usual words. I feel weak, anxious, afraid… I could write down bible verses, tons of them; I could quote song lyrics of faith like the best of them. But the truth–that tiny, fragmented thing–seems so small. I’m realizing the problem is not that I don’t know the truth. It’s not that I don’t believe it. The problem is that the truth doesn’t seem significant. When I pray, “God, help me believe the truth”, what I am really praying is, “God, make the truth seem significant.” And that’s all I can pray right now. I know the truth–I am loved, God is with me, it’s not about who I am but who I’m with… But the truth doesn’t seem significant. Father, make the truth seem significant. Make it carry weight. May the truth mean something. Help me to be strengthened by the grace that is in Jesus. Amen.