I’m not good at telling someone I hurt;
Not good at telling another soul there is woundedness, deep in my soul.
Perhaps, it’s because I’m not as open and transparent as I ought to be?
Or, maybe I’m too proud? Or shamed or ashamed?
I’m not really sure about the ‘why’ of my reticent life.
I only know that there are those days.
And the daze wrapped around my sorrow-filled life becomes an overwhelming suffocation.
I feel I can hardly manage what seems like a long walk toward nowhere..
When those days come, I have noticed a sad and truthful truth:
I’m not good at telling some other human being that
My inner most man, my inmost being feels broken, or wounded, or spent.
How does one learn such things, I wonder?
How does one pilgrim on his journey tell another along the path
That his road seems narrowed, and bumpy, and crooked besides?
How does a person share the load with others, when they all have loads of their own to manage, and lift, and survive?
Perhaps, one day I will learn how to share my journey. But, in the meantime,
Thank God … for God.
The One who knows before I speak.
Who hears, before I say.
Who understands, when I do not.
Yes. Thank God … for God.
“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.” Surely He shall deliver you from the snare of the fowler, And from the perilous pestilence.” (Ps. 91:1)