Beyond tired of getting strung along by God. And the destination, only God knows; could be Calvary freakin Hill for all I know. Blindly dragged, hoping we’re on our last leg to paradise. Ha. Though further and further we trudge, to an off-key rusted trombone dirge, slooooww, yet never ceasing for a moment of rest. Am I really still so crippled that this is our pace, and so untrustworthy that I can’t be given a hint, much less a heartfelt conversation? And Mother Teresa’s forty year dark night of the soul is supposed to be inspiring. Daunting more like it. If she–a saint–felt empty of God for so long, how the hell am I expected to conjure the hope that God has not forsaken me on this long earthly walk? I’m not in the HABIT of asking questions in haste, having lived the consequence of the error over and over again. It could have been stupidity, poor memory of a traumatized brain, pride, or just a lack of focus that had driven me to committing the same mistakes again and again. I prayed, “Lord, allow me to live an authentic life for you!” and that was all I needed to sincerely cry out…instead, in exasperation I began to expound, explain, and exert my already answered prayers.
2017, Amaya Engleking