My Prayer…



The single hardest, single-syllable word I ever had to say.


Forcing it through clenched teeth. Reluctantly, quietly. Earnestly.


Alone. No other words allowed. No other thoughts entertained.


Just one word to net it all. One word to express the whole ocean of pain, sorrow, regret and yearning. One word only, in asking for intervention.


The breath catches. The tears break. Tumbling in an ever-increasing stream, as their weight pulls my body bluntly face-first to the floor.

“Please. Please, please, please, please…”

Bits of un-chewed food spit forth as I moan through my petition, increasingly acute.

“(Please, please, please, please, please, please…)”

Unable to breathe, the words are now uttered only in my mind, as the rest of my body heaves itself to release deep sobs, long buried by a soul afraid of it’s own life. It’s own potential. It’s own beauty.


There is no answer. There never is. But the sobbing slowly subsides, and The Darkness reluctantly retreats.


An unforeseen feeling of warmth, of comfort even, comes over me. A quiet yet strong voice – maybe of my own making, or maybe His – whispers to me, “Trust Me to handle this, and we’ll make it through. Trust Me to be in control, and I will walk you Home.”

Realizing it my choice to make, I think a moment, then utter,


This post is being brought to you by both a recounting of Real Life experiences, and by the WordPress Daily Prompt’s question of “Is it easy for you to ask for help when you need it, or do you prefer to rely only on yourself?” I would hope that in this case, the answer is clear.


If I turned off my mental radio and stopped, just stopped… If I stopped and really thought about it all, I would most likely burst into tears.


I would burst into tears like some sort of overly pampered priss, while flailing about in an impotent rage. Rage in all that has passed, and in all that has not. All that has fallen apart, and all that has stubbornly stayed put. I would mourn the death of innocence in two young lives, and the two open doors that I could not walk through alone and, as such, could not walk through at all. I would weep over the pile of bodies that 2012 is leaving behind, and the swath of aborted dreams that were mowed down throughout its three hundred and sixty five days and nights.

So to avoid this, I will not turn my mental radio off. I will instead keep the cacophony at ear-deafening volumes, while I snuggle my mind deep within the distraction and cool warmth of its noise. I will keep my rage directed towards nonsensical things, things hardly deserving the sort of hate to be bestowed upon them. And I will do so in the hopes that in so doing I can slowly bleed it out, run it dry. Empty myself of the stuff in order to fill the newly open void with something better. Something positive.

Before I do so however, I would simply like to add:

2013, I am ready for a fresh start. Please Jesus, please – I am ready for Tomorrow.


C’mon man. You say these things always start with a sentence – just one simple sentence. So write it down already, and get this damned post out, and off your chest.


Here goes…

November is wrapping itself around me like some sort of chilled cocoon, and while I can’t properly express it, I feel as if I must let you know of my experience. Each and every time I walk out to be met with the solidity of the season, I feel as if the air, pressing crisply up against me, almost seems to be saying, “It’s time to wake up.” The cold, reaching deep down within my lungs, seems to be saying, “It’s finally over. All of it, over.”

The world around me is once again dying for another year. While there is little difference to my outward surroundings from years past, there is a noticeable difference from within – a grand upheaval of sorts. It is over. I can feel it, know it. 2012 is slowly passing, and I know that all the pain, anger, loss and bitterness that it bore into my life, must go now as well.

But that’s not right. Well, it’s not what I wanted to say. No, this feeling I have is much more primal. This feeling, when the cold air first kisses my cheek, is almost a call from – well – from the dawn of creation or something… Listen, I’m trying hard to not use “religious” overtones, as I don’t want you to think that this experience is unique or exclusive to only one faith. But as I am who I am, I have to use the example I believe to be the correct one. So I suppose what I’m really trying to say, is that this year the frigid air seems to be Jesus’ way of whispering to my soul, “You made it through the storm. I’ve got you now, and tomorrow will be better. ‘I have made all things new.’ I wasn’t lying when I said that, you know. And now it’s your turn pally.”

Now it’s my turn.

Sounds stupid right? I know, but that is the feeling I keep getting this Fall. That it’s my turn. That He’s going to somehow reach deep inside of me, pummel my wayward heart, scrub me down from the stains of my ignorance and small thinking, cleanse me of all the bullshit baggage that I’ve been lugging around for the past year or so, and take me to a better place. I feel so bad speaking like this, knowing that one of my dearest blogging buddies is going through exactly the opposite experience during this time of year. But I feel as if I’ve been somehow commissioned to get these words out, to express to you all this whatever-it is that I’m undergoing just now. I feel as if it is not unique to me, and others could jump in as well  – into this indulgence of being stripped down, washed away and made anew.

The boy who lives with us now has been through more in his short four years than I have most likely had to endure in my forty three, and when he has a “bad” day, I use the same schpeel on him that I did my three so long ago. After all the apologies have been made, and all the tears dried, while kissing him goodnight, I’ll ask, “Hey, is tomorrow a new day?” The answer isn’t always quick in coming, but it is always “Yes.”  And as with my three, while resting my hand on his heart (I don’t know why, I just always have) my final thought to him then before the lights go out and I leave the room is always, “Well then, let’s make it a good one, OK?”

Listen, I know that this post is coming out all wrong, and not nearly as succinct or descriptive as I would like it to be in expressing how I feel right now – like an exposed nerve ready to be bandaged, or like a drought, just minutes before the deluge. But I suppose what I’m failing so miserably at describing to you is that this year, this time, this now, Jesus (or the deity/non-deity of your choice) is telling me – and apparently telling me to tell you – that tomorrow will be coming soon, and Tomorrow will be a new day.

Tomorrow will be a new day.

I, for one, can’t wait.


God bless you my friends until then.