I'm waiting for some crinkly fries to come out of the oven so I can dip them into tartar sauce and fill the void within.
Only it never does, does it? Fill that void. Food is my drug of choice, but then anyone that looks at me can see that. What they don't realize most of the time is that it's not the whole story. However no one actually wants to know the whole story, do they? We're all bound to ourselves, our lives, our problems, issues, pains. The world revolves around us. Us. Me. You. Not them.
Not sure where I'm going with this.... The other night I couldn't sleep and I felt this enormous urge to write. Write and write and write and then write some more. To wring every last word from myself, pour it onto a page and set it afloat. At the time I wasn't quite certain just what it was that aching to be set free from my head. I still don't.
Write about my children? My work with the homeless? My depression and anxiety? My fading vision and faulty memory? The week it took me to recover from a medical procedure and intubation? The book I need to revise and the sequel I should finish?
Or the search for a new home, as ours is being sold out from under us? Or the news we got that my husband's spine is unstable and he needs extensive surgery to fix it, or the constant pain he suffers.
Or my aging father that falls again and again, his memory lapses and proclivity for misplacing things and the house falling down around him.
Do I write about the beautiful clouds that brighten my skies in artful displays, my cats that calm and soothe or the knives in my heart at the thoughtlessness of those I hold most dear and have the greatest ability to harm.
Do I write about my senate testimony on behalf of homeless students and my constant feelings of inadequacy?
Or should I write about how much good there is in a world where pilots are set ablaze in cages, young children are used as suicide bombers or sold into sexual slavery. I search for the good in a world where filtering out the horrific becomes each day more difficult.
Do I write about my escape into the world of Sea Glass, creating sparkling pieces of jewelry that no one will appreciate and love as much as I do. Where selling a pair of earrings or a necklace feels like selling a piece of myself. How many pieces are left in me?
I don't know.
What I do know is this; I pick up my scriptures each night and the balm to my soul is real. I read of the struggle of an ancient people that mirrors my own fight against evil today. I read of mothers who mourn the loss of their beloved children, both physically and spiritually, and my heart weeps.
I read of evil in government and the struggles of the common man. I feel tears on the pages of a people long dead that fought against evil and tried to do good.
And as alone as I feel at times---I know that I am not. I am one in a long chain of my Heavenly Father's children who struggle daily with sorrow, who fight against evil, who fall and get back up again. I am not alone.
He knows my name. He walks with me.