My brain wrestles me awake. I can’t sleep and I can’t stay awake. I’m somewhere between consciousness and dreamland.
Thoughts flood the peace like a bulldozer roaring into the quiet of an untouched meadow. Eating up everything beautiful and sacred. Turning the calm into a muddy chaos of rocks, broken dreams and shattered harmony.
You don’t know Him. You think you have faith? No. You don’t have faith. You are weak. You are just someone who wants to know Him.
Why don’t you pray enough? Why aren’t you reading the Bible? Why are you complaining about your circumstance instead of rejoicing?
Why did you not stop to see your father?
The question haunts. I’m justified. He is not someone I know. He is not someone I trust. He is not someone I want to see. He is just a man. In a prison cell. In the desert. Who happens to share my DNA.
Still the thought taunts me like a bad clown from a horror movie. I dream of his death. Praying for release. Weeping with regret. Wishing that somehow this was all a horrible nightmare.
I wake and my world is grey. Literally. Has the earth forgotten that it’s supposed to be summer? Have I not suffered the long dreary and rainy Oregon days enough? Now in the drier climate of Idaho it still has to torture me?
The truth is. I’m tired. I’m spent. My cup is empty. I don’t have much to give.
I doubt who I am. I doubt what I’m doing. I feel like every decision I’ve made points to this:
You are a failure.
I read the words that are supposed to encourage me. They just leave me with doubt.
Doubt. That I have faith. He says my yoke is easy and my burden is light. He says that I should believe in Him. But, I question, why? Do I not believe enough?
It’s not the rain. It’s not the loss of spending a summer traveling. It’s not even the loss of a man who I used to know.
It’s the loss of my confidence in my faith that is leaving me empty.
And that leads me into the depths of doubt.
And the journey begins again.