Wallowing in Waves

Here is the disheartening truth—

Some days I know that I am drowning.

It is as if I am walking on water,

—angelic, serene, sure—

A billowing dress and cotton-glazed hair,

Free.

I see its shadow—

That giant wave of doom creeping upon me,

Soaking the hem of my dress,

Weighing me down.

No. No. No.

I stay ahead of time, ahead of my thoughts,

Outrunning the wave…

—B u t   o n e   c a n   o n l y   r u n   f o r   s o   l o n g—

Tears stain the salt water

As I take one final glance at the world around.

The broken, yet beautiful, world—

“Will I ever see you again?”

My hair knots with anxiety

And finally I look up,

Acknowledging the wave’s existence as it successfully

P

 u

   l

    l

     s

      m

        e

          u

           n

             d

               e

                 r…

Bubbles swirl about as I flail in the water, and I try to grasp them,

They—the only surviving air in these dark waters—collapse in my hand.

The Son is obscured by the waves.

My eyes are burning from the salt.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

Where am I?

What am I doing?

My dress wraps around my neck, choking me.

I am batting my arms, batting around, battling with batting.

B A T T L E   T H E   W A V E S !

A war cry.

But I am alone, and I can’t see the Son.

Can one cry underwater?

I believe so.

It is a plea, a desperate plea.

One that cries with tear-words—

“Does the world really look like this all the time?”

“Why are we ignoring these waves?”

“Help; someone; I can’t breathe.”

My strength is gone, I begin to fall,

A final bubble rises to the surface.

—“I   c a n ’ t    g o   o n .”—

Hands plunge through the waters—

Hands swimming like little, loving minnows towards me.

I am falling, my eyes are blank,

My dress—torn.

My head jerks back from the momentum,

As they grasp me and pull me upwards.

I can’t see where we are going, nor do I even care.

After all, waves take the care away.

Breaking the surface, my vision is still foggy.

Hands pull me over the edge of a boat—

I’m numb, empty.

Faces peer at me; hands massage feeling back into my limbs.

Tears seep out of my eyes, ridding my body of the salt water acquired from the wave.

I cough.

My entire body trembles.

I can finally feel once again—it hits me all at once.

Warm smiles meet my raw, vulnerable being.

Waves can do a lot of damage to a beautiful soul.

I feel awkward.

—my heart is naked—

but I know I’m safe.

Hands begin to point,

“Look, dear friend, look—this is who saved you.”

My eyes scan the horizon, and I see.

—I—see—what—I—so—easily—forget—

Some are pointing at encouragement,

Some at genuine care,

Others at the beautiful Son—

But at the heart of it all I see that they are all pointing at LOVE.

L  O  V  E.

I sob on that blessing of a boat.

Sob so DEEPLY from the soul.

Oh, life. Oh dear friends.

When those terrible waves hit,

How easily I forget,

That I am never alone on this journey

And that I am so beautifully, so deeply, so genuinely

Loved.