I wake. Sickeningly aware of my heart. Or is it my stomach? Lurching with unspoken thoughts and feelings.
The warm, sweet, smell good baby that sleepily nurses next to me, is it a salve to my aching? He sweetly sighs, receiving nourishment and warmth from me and his curved body radiates with trust. I don't reciprocate. Instead, my insides are screaming so loudly for healing- for a balm to soothe the pain.
I feel, see, my heart laid bare. Pulverized by the mallet of fear. Somehow, I know how, I will never forget how, the harpoon of fear shot right into my soul, my mind. And the barb flashed open so it could not be yanked or pried or even slowly removed. Instead it settled deep. The remedy is to cut the dead away from the barb and leave the ragged bleeding flesh still impaled and attached - just take the bits that are left still somewhat alive and try to piece it back together.
Do I want to try? It seems the wound is so tender to the touch. Every time I try to pull the barb away, even a little, it just gushes and bleeds. Pain. And fear seeps out into my life stream and infiltrates my being. Head to toe, inside to outside, fully filling my head, my heart, my body. There must be a remedy, a potion - something to ease the suffering. No, Please,- something to heal! Is it possible? Dare I hope to see myself without that harpoon impaling my heart? Dare I hope for wholeness? Even joy?
Hope is far away but I know I must fight or the wound will fester and beat me. So, I seek like one who has lost a great treasure. No, like a traveler in a desert parched for a drop of water. Yes, parched for a drop of joy, a drop of peace, a drop of freedom. I seek and trudge through miles of aloneness. Miles of emptiness. Miles of mirages. These are the worst. The mirages that don't bring true hopes- just dash them away. Those moments of reprieve for my soul. They seem to come and I hope they will stay but then I open my eyes and wake again to see my fear wrecked heart and the mirage oasis fades away.
I fight to stay alive, not to win. Someday I will fight to win. Someday my being alive will be the triumph, the victory, the joy. So I will fight.
I must drink to stay alive. I must find water. So, I worship. Worship drips from my mouth and into my thirsty, cracked spirit. It is not a weapon, it is sustenance. The music soothes. The words heal and the Worshipped One becomes the true Oasis of soul quenching, living water. I drink, sip by sip, not gulp by gulp. I sip from His hand and I sing to His heart.
He must look at my fear impaled heart with sadness and empathy. But, knowing my struggle to get free will make me stronger, He doesn't say, "Here, let me rescue you" - that is my wish. Instead, He says, "Come near. Let me hold your hand. Let me hold you. I will be near and I have the balm to soothe the sting. You will fight. I will stand guard. You will fight. I will be near to replenish your waning strength. Don't give up for when the fight ends, and it will, we will be known to each other like intimate friends and your strength will return and the wound will close and we will walk and run and fly together." It is a promise.
I reach out from a place I don't know to gather in the strength of this Creator Friend. It comes in very small doses. Just enough for one battle at a time, not enough for the raging war.
And I am hungry. I starve for the Bread of Life. A morsel, not a buffet or gourmet dessert. Just a crust, something to give nourishment to my blood, my body. So I can put one foot in front of the other and not fade away. I find it. The Word of God is alive and is wholesome food, organic, changing, healing food. Bit by bit I nibble, famished but not gluttonous. I nibble the crumbs that become my banquet. I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord. I taste and see that He is good. The new mercies go down like sweet honey and juicy fruit. New every morning.
So, I eat and I drink and the bleeding stops for a moment but the tears still come. They fall on my cheeks, on my baby's cheeks and I feel a glimmer of thankfulness. For what? For the food and the water and the mercies- my children, my family. The mercy memories of times before. Times of wholeness before. They come as memories and as hope. They remind me I can do more - no - I AM more. More than a bleeding and poured out spirit. They give me purpose - to wake and eat and drink and fight and heal.
They help me heal. I see the innocent smiles, the laughter, the adventure and hope and I musn't let my injury interfere. So I choose to fight and heal. I must overcome the lurking enemy to help protect their hearts from the same fate. I love them and the love brings a soothing. They love me and it brings my sweet dessert. I look into their eyes and though I am afraid, with crippling fear, I can't help but think and see the future - a future for them. I want a future with smiles, and dancing and singing and playing and seeking and treasure and adventure.
Today I am not near that hope. The future is far, so far away. Today I am still gutted. Today I am still bobbing in the sea, so far from shore and faith.
But I fix my eyes on the Creator of the shore, the Author of my faith, the Finisher of my story. And I breathe. In and out.
At least my eyes are open today and my hands will find their tasks and my eyes will see sweet smiles. My ears will hear ringing laughter and my arms will hold warm bodies. And maybe tomorrow it will feel real or maybe tomorrow my heart lurching will stop. Maybe tomorrow the barb will come loose and I will be free. Maybe not tomorrow. Someday.
