Heart out, lying on the floor.
Throbbing. Splitting. Bleeding.
Two places hold my arms and I'm standing, stretched in between. I might break.
I've learned that wherever I go, I'll always be away from someone I love.
Always a piece slickly scooped out of me. Left behind is a gaping, round hole. A smooth vacancy.
Maybe this is God giving me what I asked for, that He would become my home, but all I know are my nights of falling asleep with tears on my cheeks and weeks of forced smiles and hidden pain.
This sense of a black hole planted in my stomach, the pain, it doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel like growth. It feels like hell.
I don't know how to believe God's hand is in this. I just plain don't know how. Surely this exposes how weak my faith truly is. I don't know how to walk on water.
But I guess I don't need to know how in order to step out of the boat.
Right?
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