for those who ask but do not receive

I cry to you and plead for answers.

I push at the borders of my understanding, forcing myself to ask again and again.

Hot tears trickle a stream of proof that my heart is torn open.

No answers arrive at the doorstep of my soul.

My life remains anonymous to you.

“You’re not believing enough,” they say.

“If you have faith, the miracle will come,” they poke me with their swords.

As the battle rages in my being, life comes fast and hard. There are things to be done.

Meals must be provided; clothes must be washed; gas must be pumped into my car.

I lose battle after battle on the open plains of belief.  I begin to long simply for relief.

The guilt of surrender washes over my exhausted body.

If I could only be stronger, better, braver, the miracle would come.

I begin to view myself with contempt.

Words of hope become accusations and daggers that plunge deep into my heart.

After a pitiful, gasping breath, my faith dies an ugly death.

Contempt moves in fast. “You never had faith. You were never good enough.”

Who will save me from drowning?

Who will throw a lifeline into this madly rushing river?

I cannot catch my footing. The swirling, crashing water pulls me under.

A shaft of light; a bloom of true hope – hope without thorns.

A glimpse of  my very true desire; my big scary ask.

Unmet desire is not shameful; it’s beautiful.

My lifeline – this desire is gift. I grab the rope and hold on tight.