I am in retreat, a place of darkness and comfort, an abstention from human contact, a gluttonous withdrawal.
I am in a cave. It is my dwelling of choice this summer.
ground level, but high
on a desert cliff
with a narrow ledge
and little room for error.
I am becoming aware
that there are people
I want to push off
this narrow ledge.
Is it self-preservation? Or selfishness?
Mixed messages echo within me.
My heart argues with my brain.
My belief in Christ directs me toward love. My exhausted humanity fondles the idea of pushing people off the ledge.
When I speak with a trusted friend about this impulse, our conversation brings: figure out what you need and ask for it.
Tonight, as I read a friend's blog, he shares the words: this is where I am and I need this.
And the summer rhythm vibrates with a soft and ancient beat:
Be still, and know that I am God.
Perhaps it is not a prayer that God will give me strength. Instead, as this night ends, perhaps it is permission to be weak, to embrace the exhaustion, to let go of faded friendships and let people fall away -- to believe that God holds the power to make all things new again.
Be still, and know that I am God
Behold, I make all things new again