Shared Seasons: 2011

Apathy is holding me. It caresses the crevices of places in my heart I don’t want to look at. It is my addiction of choice. Depression surges through my body, and finds its way through my veins. I cannot let it go. It loves to be a part of who I am. - I am wandering. I am gone. I am here. I am yours, beloved.

But, my heart is falling away from you.

Weights bind themselves to my words. They will not lift. They will not leave. They sometimes scare me. I scrape my mind for better thoughts, but I cannot escape. I need you to help me. I need you to hear, to come, to rise, to live, to exist. I am breathing for your movement. Awake my soul.

I kneel on blue carpet which has been worn down by the rubber soles of humanity. I can feel you. My head is lowered and tucked between my arms, the place of humility and love, as sweaty palms stick to the cold ground. I can feel the weight of my hurt and pain pressing on my chest. It burns and suffocates my being. I release the warm air from my lungs as it climbs out of the chambers of my throat. I can feel it brush against my face and knees when it escapes. Its warmth reminds me of how small I am, of how futile life is.

My hands lift towards you as threads of the blue carpet remain stuck on my palms. I am made to meet you.

I am your child, your creation and mark. You knew me before I was born. You fashioned me in the womb. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Yet, I ignore my creator and create myself to mirror humanity rather than you.

You created light before the sun and you made the fish multiply to feed the hungry. I am the child Abraham was told to sacrifice. But, you are the ram that was found in the bushes and was sacrificed instead.

I need you because I am Israel wandering in the desert. It is dry and barren and I cannot sustain myself any more. I am starving. My cracked lips will no longer whisper praises to deities I have made with my own hands.

I am your people building a golden calf. I am afraid you aren’t real. So, I conceive a god of my own. I craft it to my convenience. It is beautiful and deadly. But, it melts when placed under heat. It does not love.

I am the whore you told Hosea to marry. I think you don’t know what I am doing. You cannot see me if I don’t acknowledge you. My mind forgets who you are. I am afraid because I can no longer find my lovers. You have taken them from me. My breasts are exposed for everyone to see. They can no longer rescue me. I am weak and on display for all to mock.

I am Cane’s sons building a paradise away from you. It is easier to ignore a God when I see no need for Him. I distract my mind with music and “life”. Lyrical ballads of falling in love rape my mind giving me a false picture of who you are and what you have done.

My body falls lifeless into the open pit of Earth. A trench in warfare you have already fought. You remain victorious. But, the battles are tough and grim. I choose to not use armor. I feel as though my flesh is thick enough on my own. I pull the bow and let the arrow fly towards the enemy. I try to fight this on my own. But, I become the target and the arrow pierces my flesh.

I am sinking into the waves of a wandering heart because I looked away from you. My body lowers as the liquid prison surrounds me. The weight from my wet clothes pulls me under faster. I am numb. You called me out on faith. I ignore you.

I am the adulteress woman you saved from being stoned. I saw you write with your finger in the dust. I saw you love when others judged. I saw you put hypocrites to shame. They will never cast the first stone.

I am Peter denying you. I can hear the cock crowing for the third time. The heat from around the campfire does not warm me. I am still bare and cold. In the darkness I try to imagine a life where I never met you. I try to forget who you are. I cannot do it.

I am sorry for not loving you. I am sorry for ignoring your voice. I am sorry for not believing.

My words flow like tears from the eyes of the woman who washed your feet with oil. She wiped them dry with her long hair. She kissed your feet, touching your flesh with hers. You are real.

I am Isaiah. You are on your throne. I am ushered into your presence. Merciful ground lies beneath my feet. I feel the heat from the coals upon my lips. Who is there in the heavens like you? And upon the Earth who is your equal?

You came to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners. You know your creation.

You died for it. Your hands were placed across splintered wood as nails drove through your body. I cried out among the scoffers. I was standing at your feet. I saw the blood drip onto the dust. The divine and human were meeting. I was there when the darkness swallowed the earth.

For three days I thought you were dead. I knew all hope was lost. I knew you were just a man. But, you proved me wrong.

I remember you working in my life before I knew your plans. I was sitting at my wooden desk in middle school. I was in the front of my row. The nickel bolts on the top of the blue plastic chairs were irritating the backs of my bare legs. I remember the teacher because she was my favorite. She had brown hair, shoulder length, and wore her daughter’s clothes sometimes. Her signature black leather two inch boots grazed against the hem of her tight skirt. I remember her skin, tanning bed brown with lines running from the ends of her eyes to the side of her hairline. She was sitting at her desk.

“I am really good at telling who people are and who they will be. So let’s play a little game. I will go around and say who I think you will be when you grow up.” Ms. Taylor looked around the room as her lips stretched across the whole bottom of her face, exposing pink lipstick on her teeth.

We all gasped put of excitement, “OH! YEAH! Tell us please! What will we be!?” We began begging for her to reveal our future. Her words leaked out from her mouth and fell on white blank pages of a prophet’s holy book. “Kara, I can tell you will be a dentist or a nurse of some sort.” Kara turned her head in my direction. Our eyes met as a huge grin revealed her pink and metal braces. We all sat patiently and still. We needed to behave so that our fortunes would be good. Any wrong move could send us straight to being a “nobody”.

“Cayce” My chest tightened as she called my name. I looked down at the scrapings on the tops of my desk, a few hearts drawn in blue pen. I looked back up and waited for her to finish.
“…you are going to be a humanitarian. I can just see you joining the Peace Corps. You have a heart for people.” Everyone else was going to be doctors and lawyers and veterinarians, and I…well, I was going to be a freelance hippie traveling the world and helping people.

But, you have shown that it is so much more than that. You have allowed me to serve you on four different continents. You have taken me through the deserts. You have asked me to walk in faith across waters which once imprisoned my body. You have forgiven me. You have shown me what love is so that I can love others.

(This was for an assignment for my Nonfiction Writing Workshop- the genre is Personal Essay)