You said you want to hear my story, well that’s fine. I’ve told it so many times, pedaling it for nickels and dimes, believing that’s what it’s worth. Some spare change. I could spare change, there’s so much it’s fluid. Never having a single constant, never feeling at home. I thought I had it a few times, warmed my feet at the hearth at the promise of safety emblazoned my face and pierced my bones. It was just enough to feel at peace, just enough to feel released, just enough for some relief. But soon it was back out into the dark, back out into a void of lamplight and concrete.
I often tell myself it’s my fault. You’re the one who can’t stay. They’re right when they say you’re flighty. They’re right when they say you don’t belong. You’re love wasn’t needed and it sure as hell wasn’t wanted. Did you truly believe your Christ was worth following? Look at where you are now: cursed to wander and wander. Christ had no place for you on this earth. You had no comfort in store.
And I’ll believe every word I’ll tell myself, because that’s all I’m hearing. That’s all that’s reinforced around me. I don’t want that to be true.
Is it selfish to want a home? Is it selfish to want to be wanted? To want to throw off every weight of sin? To want to endure but not be able to? I’ve been running this race for so long, yes I know I haven’t shed blood, and yes I know you’ve called me son, but damn it, I’m so tired.
I can’t be honest with you because it’s not seemly, I can’t wear a mask because it’s not honest. Caught in the middle of some sort of existential keep-away, always the monkey in the middle. You throw the ball too high, how can anyone expect to catch it? Then when we’re fed up with playing we’re shunned.
Jesus why would you love this lot?
Why would you love me?
I’ve been told so many times that I drag your name through the mud. Told I’m a bad influence. That I’m a bad Christian.
When can I be loved for being honest? When can I say that I’m suffering and feel like it matters? When can I be human again?
It’s so hard to have so much knowledge about you. I see who you are, but when I put that into action I become a monster.
Can you be more than just words on a page? Can you be more than just subjective theology where you’re only one thing to one person with one goal and one dimension? Where’d your mystery go? Didn’t you know, we figured you out. We’re your God now, and we’ll use you to lord over those we don’t agree with.
I’m not trying to say I’m right. I’m not trying to say others are wrong. I just need to say what I feel.
I’ve been following your voice around for a decade now. Wandering aimlessly on trust, taking the criticisms along the way. I’m just ready to find an address with my name on it. 10 years is a long time to wander. My feet are tired and I need to rest. I remember you said your yoke was easy and your burden light, mine is not, and it feels like it always will be.
Do you know what it’s like to always be sad and never have a way out? I just want to know what it’s like to feel joy and purpose.