It is on the crash and burn days
when it feels like life drags me along,
and it seems like all the positive preaching
was for someone else. I thought it was for me.
On crash and burn days I can’t be found.
These are the invisible days, the days
when rejoicing in the promises of
mornings gets lost in the thirty
years of afternoons gone by.
Waiting. Still waiting.
You see there
is no need to look for
the needle in the haystack;
I am the needle in the haystack.
I thought it would come by now, but it
hasn’t found me. If you think this is
about depression, you are wrong.
It is about faith that is strong
and still. Immeasurable,
one would think.
Like me, on crash and burn days, my faith
cannot be seen or heard; it is only visible
and audible to God. My breathing is
slow and calm as I sit here under
the crush of simply waiting.
No one else has
heard me, seen me, or
believed me. Only God can hear
the faint sound of faith in a single breath
that struggles to remember His promises.
In the window of my mind, I see a door
ajar. And a great light. He always
waits for me; my wait is not
in vain, whether the door
is opening or closing.
I can see the word
“Opening” floating in the
air of my mind. Echoes form
catching in my throat. Once.
I could only say it once. That’s all.
But I didn’t say it first.