It was a dream, I think. But sometimes it’s hard to tell; dreams are tricky that way. I can feel the ache and shaking, the nerves throttling through my body and all I can think is – “Oh no. Not again. Not this cliff.” And not until I wake up with overwhelming dread to I realize that it wasn’t really real – or was it?
But back to that particular night. Right before that dangerously close point of no return, just before the fatal decision I’ve followed so many times before – time stops. I look at my demon, and then to the Man standing next to me and He reminds me, “You do have a choice. Your past does not have to be the script of your future.” And so I closed up that nasty creature and gave it to Him.
So yes, it was a dream, I suppose. But some dreams do actually come true, and I want to be there while it happens.
They tell me it was named
The Trail of Tears, that road
they were made to walk.
I also have traveled, weary.
I also have cried
tears that mark their salty path
from the Smoky Mountains to a dust bowl
that holds no compassion
for my loss.
This is my trail
that I have journeyed many days
never knowing - always wondering
when will I return home.
God, be a shelter for my runaway heart.
God, be my belief and help my unbelief.
Father, be my trust when all else has betrayed me.
Healer, be my healing, and bring beauty from these shards.
Abba, be a Father to my orphan soul.
Lord, be my home in this world that cannot be my home.
Savior, be an unfailing shelter in my time of storm.
Hey God - it’s me.
I dunno if You’re listening,
if You care, or -
I am closer than your heartbeat
and yet you wonder
if I care.
I surround you like the air you breathe
and yet you still doubt
You wander, not knowing where
or for what - but I am waiting for you.
I am the way home
from nothing and nowhere.
You run - heart pounding, lungs heaving,
your body craving oxygen, but
it is not just air
that you are hungry for -
My fearful, doubting child
whom I love.
You pound me, fall on me, drench my broken soul
with the tears I cannot cry.
The self-accusations that devour my mind
are swallowed up in your thunder.
They have a voice now, but not of words.
My shame you scatter with a single bolt of lightning
and I dare ask you, what name shall I give
to the wreckage?
Others run for cover but I do not run, I walk
in the weeping of a single soul’s anguish
across the heavens above me.
No matter that I am wet.
No matter that I am cold,
you are the manifestation of that story
which I do not yet have the courage