Eat The Word

Growing up, I often felt alone. I was a peculiar kid with a funny imagination and a weird sense of humor. My family was broken with alcoholism and different kinds of abuse twisted my parent’s understanding of love. It was tough. Not the toughest, but it was tough.

On the hardest days it felt undeniably, inexplicably true that I would be alone without an advocate, without a true guardian, forever. I adopted the religion of buddhism when I was 16 as a reinforcement of those beliefs. Life was suffering. Life is an illusion. I would hope to one day freely float back into the misty force of life and finally forget all that plagued me.

This morning I’m pressing into some big life decisions mostly concerning work. I’m walking and praying and I am not alone. I’m praying and I’m startled to remember the stark truth that is sometimes accompanied by a feeling. He’s always with me. My faithful High Priest, making intercession for me. He leads by the hand, because he’s gentle, and because he’s given me need for a hand to hold. He breaks my stubborn spirit, so that the Liar will not bind my soul, so that I can hear his perfect voice. He sings the ancient song of a son and a father to my wanting ears and I am knit together, again, and continually, and once and for all.

I am not alone. You are with me. Give me ears to hear. Give me eyes to see. Lead me with your voice.