Ministry, Work, Love, and Life

 As I type this, I have four cents to my name. I had hoped my check was in the mail today for naught. I had my nieces for half the day and that was great; having them ask why I ever moved out brought it down a notch, but it was still sweet. As things have been in the past couple of weeks, I ponder the great mysteries of life.

   What makes a person want to shoot up a school? How can I be so selfish to think about my paycheck coming in the mail as a family mourns their daughter? What am I doing wrong? Am I to believe that the AFA is where I should work until the end of my life, give up horseshoeing, not reach for better and settle for where I am?  Can I trust anyone with these feelings? Are they logical? Will I see my sister in heaven? The one with eyes of bluest skies, a heart of gold, and the one who, no matter what, would have let me lay on her lap as she brushed my hair with her fingers, and let me cry until I was done? No conversation, just tears. Oh, how I miss her.

   Do I take the chance of always being in debt, go back to school, and become a counselor of others who share my childhood experiences? Do I stay where I’m at? Can I afford that? right now, I feel as though I am being pulled in every direction, all at once, wondering which part of me will break first. God, if you want my broken heart, here it is. When the pieces all fall down, only you can use them. So, here I am. I have to ask, “Can you really use me?” Someone who, at times, despises everything they are? Someone who barely distinguishes love from abuse? A person who can’t take care of themself, yet yearns to care for others? And then, given the chance, blows off those very same people, for an adventure?

   Really, God, you’re the only one listening now.  I need you to cover me. I can’t go on like this. I need someone to understand. I’ve never hung on a cross. I didn’t die for the sins of anyone, much less everyone. I was not publicly ridiculed for hours, as my followers deserted me. I can’t even wrap my mind around this, except to say to myself, ” Quit whining, you selfish little twit, it’s all over and it’s time to move on!”

   I’ve been moving on for 11 years, yet I think I’ve been standing still the whole time. I’ve forgiven the people, I’ve tried to forget the offenses. Everytime I hear of abusive fathers and uncaring mothers, it comes back. Every time I hear certain names, I cringe. Every time I hear simple words, such as “shooting”, “abuse”, and “abandoned”, a fit of rage swallows my heart with a coldness so deep, I fear I might freeze to death. Did you know I have thes fits? Does anyone know that I almost killed somone? Does anyone know that underneath my callousness, there is a heart so terribly broken, that I don’t even know myself anymore? Do they care?

   Can I trust you with my heart? I don’t believe it can bear much more. Can you fix it? Can you send me one person, just one, who can say, honestly, ” I don’t know what you’re going thru, but I’ll be here for you”? How about someone to say, ” Your past doesn’t make me view you any differently.” God, I am so tired of seeing every day exactly the same as the day before. I know I have to change. I know it’s me, and not the world. I know you love me. And yet, at this point, none of it really seems to matter much to me. I also know pains so terrible, people cringe upon hearing them, and I shut down. Scars that leave no outside mark, but, believe me, they’re here and they’re as real as this computer.

    Will I ever be able to function for more than a month without something to shove them down? They’re easier to deal with when I drink, but no less bitter. I’m not drinking now.Scratch that. Do you remember what I told you that night in the boat, the first time James was almost arrested? It’s still true. I have forgiven him, and I’ve forgiven everyone involved. Do you remember the couch incident? How about the time with the gun? How can you love me? Why me? I don’t deserve it, and at times, I wonder if I’d be better off not knowing you. But I do. I know you have forgiven me. I know you have forgiven all the times like these, all the guys, all the drugs, all the hate. I still think about my son that never was, I think about what he could be now. He would have been 7 this year. He and Zoie would be best friends, as well as cousins. I could have raised him right, ya know. I don’t understand why it wasn’t in your plan. I don’t understand how I became a fairweather friend.

   All I know for sure right now is that my body can metabolize 4 oz. of ButterShots in an hour. This is where I have to end. Maybe I am crazy.