I have pent-up frustration. And there’s not really anything constructive that I can say about it. So, I keep quiet. Haven’t you heard the sound of my silence?
I’m worried about a situation that doesn’t even involve me, except that I know about it. So, I go about my business. How can I go about the business of anyone else?
I’m saddened by some things that are beyond my control. So, I do the things that I can do. Are we ever really in control anyway?
And more than usual, I hold things inside. I cope less well. And even I wonder if I’m okay. Because holding it all inside has never been my way of coping. I feel a little tick-ish. Like tick-tick-tick kaboom – tick-ish. I’d run as fast as I can, but my ankle won’t let me. I’d box in the ring, but I don’t have any gloves. Or a ring for that matter. Or skill . . . but you see what I mean. What do the stuff-it-down people do when they realize they are too full of unpleasantness?
There was a time when I thought prayers should be nice and soft and sweet. And then life got too real for sweetness. So I cried in prayer. I sort of shouted in frustration in prayer. I laid down on my face and sobbed in prayer. Sometimes you can’t go lower than the floor, but you want to.
I have a feeling it is time to take a sackload of this-ain’t-sweet to God in prayer. I can barely lug it to his throne. I wonder if I call him – will he come carry it away for me? And then maybe I can tell him about all the good stuff, about the friends that I’ve asked for and received, about the kindnesses I’ve been shown, about the many good and tangible gifts in my life. Because I can’t even breathe under the weight, much less tell a story.
Time to put it down. If I only had a few solitary moments . . .










