“You sound depressed. It’s that self-loathing mood you get in.” She said in one of those moments of compassion that just ambushes you. I heard the toilet, still running. It had been for hours. It just couldn’t stop. I told her that I loved her and hung up.
The irrelevancy of this “suffering,” it makes me shudder like epsom salts on an empty stomach. I’m one part parent, criticizing the immaturity of it, one part child, sobbing at the unfairness of it. And God’s staying for the duration. After all the self-pity has been proclaimed, the names called, the loyalty questioned, He’ll be standing in the middle of the room, arms just perceptibly open, asking if I’ll come home now.
I hope I’ll do just a bit better this time, just a bit, just a little bit – maybe I can believe He started something, He started it and He’ll finish it.