Struggle
Friday, March 1, 2024
I find myself in trouble—waist deep in murky water, but I don't feel a thing.
I could blame God, but I'm not so naive. I could tell Him, this is what you made us to be! I hear the voice of Adam, but I will not listen to it.
My afflictions of loneliness and sorrow are but a memory. A man is not mature until he stops seeking the love of women and comprehends there's a reason why the old advise the young to slow down and fill their lungs with the full breath of life.
"For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanisheth away."
Yes, I understand. I understand I must act as if my solitude is eternity for the warmth of women, whether love or lust, is like salt water. I understand why the old can feel the brevity of time so sharply and its vexing sting always at the back of their minds, though my ears are not yet tuneless to the dawning birds, and my eyes are not yet dim to the silver lining among the clouds. The silver cord of life is not taut for me even still, and the golden bowl remains uncracked. My pitcher is full, and my wheel is pristine, but I understand.
Yes, I understand.
When there is hope for us, God gives us struggles and pain—suffering to mold our souls into what they need to be. And yet I do not suffer anymore.
I'm like that of a stone resting on the precipice of a mountain; resolved and unstirred.
So, if this is contentment and maturity, I wonder where I'll grow from here. Sifting through leaden marsh and yet at peace? Sounds paradoxical to me.
I'm wading through the black waters that are rising to my chest. Soon, I'm sure, they'll swallow me whole. And for once, there's no fear, no stress, no acidity, nor pain. Here I am, wondering where it all went.
I find myself in trouble—emotionless and uncaring. No, I don't feel a thing.
Amen.