Precious Lord, take my hand. Lead me on. Let me stand. I am tired. I am weak. I am worn. Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light. Take my hand, precious Lord. Lead me………………just lead me.
How do I love you, forgive you, yet couldn’t really care less about you all at the same time? Every time I needed you, you ran. It took my tragedy for you to actually talk to me. That’s the first time I can remember that you were actually there for me. By then it was too little too late. I didn’t even realize that I have been punishing you. Passive aggressively making you pay for every time I needed you and you weren’t there. When I have time, I’ll get to you. Because when I needed you, you were taking care of someone else. You knew them better than you knew me. But I couldn’t say anything. I should have been able to run to you with any and everything, instead you ran from me. You built a wall between us without a door or a window.
Even though I don’t know your reasons, I know you had some and good ones at that. I was never angry with you. Still not. But I was constantly and continuously disappointed. It was almost like you made a game of bringing me to the top of the mountain just to push me off. No apologies. No discussion. Because you were mommy. So I just got used to loving you and not really liking you at the same time.
I knew then, just like I know now, my “place”. I’m damn near 40. I’ve taken that place with everything and everyone because I don’t truly know what it is to be respected for who I am. I’m just finding out who I am. There’s a difference between being able to speak and having a voice. I had neither. But my life was screaming “WHERE WERE YOU?” Where were you when everything I had for that stupid pageant got stolen and you didn’t do anything. Not one thing. You didn’t even ask around – you didn’t say anything to anyone. You managed to murder my dreams, while patting me on the back at the same time. I get an “atta-girl” for being a “good dancer”, but can’t pursue it because “it’d look better if I did something else like poetry”. I didn’t have it in me to fight for me. I was already cemented in this box that I couldn’t see out of, so that’s where I stayed. It’s crazy to think that the walls I have up aren’t even mine. I still live in the home that you helped build.
You were supposed to teach me how to trust Him, but I couldn’t trust you. Where did you disappear to? A better question is ‘what happened to you?’
I don’t know how altogether true Matthew 7:9-12 is. For the deep, super saved folk, I should count “life” as a gift, I guess. But what sense does that make when I wasn’t even supposed to be here. And now I’m supposed to trust You and your invisible Sovereign self, when I got people standing right in front of me that I can’t rely on. Supposedly YOUR people. Is this really what You allowed me into the world for? Is this really my predestined path? Your will? Some of it had to be because I didn’t cause it. I didn’t choose my parents. I didn’t choose to be raped. I didn’t choose to be muzzled into submission. Yet you saw it and you allowed it. It’s probably better that my daughter died cause why put her through this? How am I supposed to tell people about You when I ain’t even sure about you yet? I’d love to hear the “Good News” and it actually be good. My heart is tired. My life is tired. My soul is ready to fight a different battle now.
I can’t change the subject anymore. I just want to be safe.
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