Wanting to write. Needing. Needing so to work things out with words. Words on paper, eye pens with souls can speak. I can't. My tongue gets tied up and tangled, and I am the standing fool. Working toes into ground. Digging hole with round and round.
All day. I woke up in a foul mood, and have been trying to shake the ground Satan walks on ever since. Head ache. Heart aches. Soul hungering for something more than the peanut m&ms I try to stuff it with. Stomach ache.
Duh, Bernadette.
Fear is here again, and I am tired. Sometimes there is victory. And sometimes there are days like this when I want to be in the toe hole. I wonder and think too much. Too much about me. Myself. I. Sink down into depression, and want to fly away.
Cry out to God. He knows. He understands. But, in my emotions, God's promises to me aren't cutting it. I am unlovely, and they cut. What I want are His arms. What I need are His eyes on me. Physical. I am made of spirit AND flesh. Where is the joy today? And why I am massaging the hurt? Am I the only one who experiences great days of loneliness? In all the craziness?
Just wondering.
Bernadette
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