God, quiet this too loud life with your still small voice, the gentle whisper of Your infinite being and presence and love and power. Am I alone - reverberating a discordant BONG----BONG----BONG----GONG echoing in bones and brain. Too loud. Am I alone?
Grief turned up the bass and volume of my life's stereo. Life is too loud, hits too hard, seizes reason, rattles and rolls me. Grief steals patience, hates excuses, molds guilt, despises injustice, and screams. Too loud. Pain.
Am I alone?
An island? Is this the "About Us" link for the Dead Kid Club Dead Marriage Club Dead Relationship Club Dead Fallen World Club?
Is this too loud life the new-normal, grief life? Or is this just life?
Am I alone?
Is this life too loud what's left for me to live?
Satan labored and birthed grief, formed from the egg and sperm of His "I wills." Evil. Satan metamorphosed in the black hole of his pride from God's perfect creation into abomination. God didn't make grief. It's ugly. Relentless. The hissing snake.
Am I alone?
Are you alone?
Do you live this gonging, too loud, living, too fast, too much, too long?
Does The Fall's dead, decaying animal stench of grief and regret and
guilt hit you sometimes so hard you want to die?
Are we alone?
I don't want to be alone.
I don't want us to be alone.
They keep saying I have to talk about it. NONONONONONONONONONONO.
Who will understand my grief truth, and how could I talk about it to the ones I love whose eyes are bloodshot and purple shadowed in their own fight of the stink? Are their lives too loud?
Savagely cloak them, us, me in Your grace, Jesus.
Quiet. Quiet. Quiet. Everything.
Whisper us free with your still small voice.
The stench is evil.
Are we alone?
Do you talk about it?
Do you fight it until you're empty and numb and so heavy you can't get up?
Jesus, you know the words we need to say.
Hear them for us; pour them out; wipe us white as snow.
I give up. Take me up.
Come, soon. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.
This isn't how it's supposed to be. Life and grief are too loud.
With Your still, small, whisper, turn down the stereo.
We are not alone.
Thank you for butterflies.
Thank you for butterflies.
Thank you for butterflies.
We are not alone, Jesus.
We are not alone.
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