Message in a Bottle

Sometimes I wonder. Wonder about my life. My choices. The things I've done to disappoint those who mean the most to me. Everyone has darkness in their past. Some walk in darkness for all their days and beyond. Others have darkness in their past, but eventually see dawn. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the darkness of my past. Maybe I am walking backwards. Always confronting my past instead of facing my future. The darkness is like a mist. A cloud. A high tide and I am the fixed shore. It's chasing me and I entertain it by running away. Am I a coward for not being still? Am I faithless for not trusting the Lord to protect me? Or change me? Or cover me in the warmth of day? All I know is, I have thoughts. Thoughts that make my mind go dark, until the darkness bleeds out around me and I am invisible. To everyone. And I'm no one. And I am convinced I can't be found. And I am still because searching for a way out would mean feeling my way out of the darkness.

Why do I feel like no one knows me? But my past knows me. It calls me. Calls me by a name that I refuse to respond to. Calls me by a name that Jesus said is no longer my name. But why do I turn? Why to my ears perk up when that name is called. It's not me. But if it's not me, then why do I see my past when I look into my reflection. I gaze into the face of the sea. Wondering if I should throw myself in. Dive down to the bottom. Cover myself with seaweed and rocks. Disappear forever beneath the foam. I gaze into the face of the sea and the only thing that stops me from diving in and ending it all is seeing my dark past staring back at me. I don't want to touch it. It is the only thing that stops me. That and her. She is the gold flecked in the sands that hold me still. And He. He is the wind that pushes the wave backwards when I reach out to it. To become the nothingness. Sometimes I wonder. About all the things I could have done differently. I wonder and as I wonder I try all the different paths in my mind and for a moment I am free, until I leave the reverie and refocus on reality and find that I am tangled. Tangled in the present. And my present, buried in the past. My legs are tangled and I can't get out. There is no way out.

Naivety, ignorance, stupidity, selfishness, pride, anger, fear. They brought me here. They were my comrades. I defected. Again and again. "Who's side are you on?" They ask me. And I cower beneath their words and wish I never made this journey with them. I'll never be on your side, I think. I want off this ship. But they tell me I will never get off this ship. They are cold comrades. They do not hold me. They do not speak to me. They do not love me. They do not value me. But what is the difference. Someday I will have to be still and let the past run over me like a waterfall. Rush over me and mute my pleading voice with its screaming accusations. And everyone will know. Everyone will see what I have done. Everyone will know what has been done to me. Who will be my advocate? Who will plead my case? I always believed You would be there. I still do. But this room that I sit in is cold. And your warm arms are wrapped around everyone but me. I am cold and still. And your gentle songs are blowing through the boughs of the trees but you won't sing to me. I want to cry because of what we once had and because I'm not sure if you'll come back to me. I've lost it all. And you let them take it from me. I've lost my identity. The wind stole it from me with a swift and forceful blow and took it far away. Shattered it, like a broken seashell against the jagged pier. And I want to feel warmth and joy and love. But I am shattered. And every time you pour into me, the warmth and joy and love spill out of my cracks and deficits.

Maybe it's just one of those days. Those days where you lie in the chilled, wet leaves and stare at the sky. Wish you were a bird, a feather, a butterfly. So that you can escape this wayward, toxic, downright scary and confusing world. I just want to change my past. Let the clouds become white liquid paint and wash over every mess I've made on this dank canvas. But I am inside a cell called "impossible". My shoulders are sagged like weeping willow. Strained and pain. This burden is not easy and this yoke is not light, Lord. I found a world of music and writing. It is a world of streaming colors and light. I found a world inside my mind. It is here that I find freedom. It is here that I get off the ship and escape captivity. Until You come and free me for real. Please come. I'll never forget the sight of that deflated balloon on the hill. Will I find a deflated bottle at the bottom of the hill?