May, 2012 Archives



by Birdie in Faith, Life, Musings, Raw

This is entirely raw and unedited. It’s my way of processing how I feel. I’m putting it here in the hopes that, if someone is feeling the way I am, they might find comfort in the fact that they aren’t alone.


I’m staring down a twisting, gnarled path lined with dark shadows and brambles. With each step forward, the ground behind me crumbles away. There’s no turning back on this journey, no matter how much I wish I could go back to what I knew, what was concrete and made sense. What’s ahead is so incredibly daunting.

Sometimes I think that maybe I’ve lost the correct path and find myself stumbling along a not oft traveled deer path that winds around and around and doubles back on itself. And then I enter a deep, cool valley, and just as I come across the well-beaten path I am certain is the right one, I look ahead and up see that it disappears behind the crest of the peak before me, and the rest of the trail is beyond where I can’t see it.

What if it dead-ends? What if it crumbles away beneath my feet, leaving me with nowhere to go? What if I’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, which I’m certain I have, and this path leads to despair and suffering? I can’t see my destination, nor can I see the clear path I need to take to make it there.

I am frightened.

A little voice in the back of my mind whispers sweetly, “Trust.” But I’ve been trusting. All of those detours, those lonely, sleepless nights, I trusted. And where has it gotten me? To a ravine from which my ability to emerge and get back on track is uncertain; to a state of pervasive loneliness and jealousy and bitterness; to a depth of despair that I can’t even begin to communicate.

Trust has led me to uncertainty and to a point in my journey where I’m so exhausted from striving and searching and trusting and pleading and being quiet that I wonder if giving up, settling on a log on the side of the trail to live out my days, might be the better option.

Again, that little voice intones, “Trust.” I’m tired of trusting. I’m tired of blundering about my life as if blind. I’m tired of everyone moving on around me, of everyone making strides towards the purpose of their lives. I want that. I want to have at least a tiny little niggling inkling as to my purpose on this earth. Because surely it isn’t to simply wander, lost and alone, for the rest of my days.

I know He has plans to prosper me, but where are they? I feel like shouting to the heavens, “I am unhappy! I am not being prospered!” In fact, I often feel quite the opposite: like I’m a tiny, insignificant insect with an enormous magnifying glass focusing the trials of life squarely on my back.

“Trust,” the voice whispers. “Trust.” But I feel as if I’ve forgotten how. My feet are rooted to this spot, and my mind reels with the black void behind me and the towering unknown before me. My arms are like lead, weighing me down, and my heart feels heavy as a stone. I can’t go back, because there is nothing for me there. And yet, I can’t go forward, because there is a chance that there is nothing for me there, either.

The fear is paralyzing.


That single word echoes in my mind, and I struggle to lift my feet. Surely, whatever is before me will be better than the black, empty void behind.


My feet feel like boulders, and every slow, agonizing step I take shakes the ground and the trees around me. A bright red cardinal erupts from a nearby bush and soars high above the peak and out of sight.


My pace is slow, but at least I’m moving. Maybe I’m going in the wrong direction, and I still bear the weight of loneliness in the pit of my gut, but the little voice in the back of my mind has the right idea. Trust has gotten me this far, and though I can’t see the road ahead, I have always had places to put my feet and ways around obstacles.


I’m working on that. After all, not all who wander are lost.