Friday, August 3, 2012



 The constant and tedious battle between sadness and God

{May 2006}
I opened my closed lids and lifted my heavy head and found myself in the sky. I looked around and found I was seated cross legged on the rooftop of an immense building made of brick and black metal. 

The open blue sky was spotted with weary white clouds that whispered dark secrets to me. 

The wind whipped my hair around into my face as if to beckon. I saw nothing around me.

I stood up and the air enveloped me. The cool wind grabbed my hand and led me to the ledge. The concrete below the palms of my feet was harshly cold. I stepped onto the ledge and below was the empty space of the world. My toes curled around the ledge and grasped the cutting edges of the surface.

Above me, the black silhouette of an otherwise brightly colored bird danced. Dancing and fighting the cold and cutting wind.  I looked ahead and the blue of the sky seemed vacant, but I knew better. I knew much better. I closed my eyes. 

The wind gave one last sigh. 
That was all I needed. 

The brick sat silent and the concrete gazed coldly. The wind whispered and the birds foretold. I lifted one foot and the air whipped around it; giving the heir of a false foothold. Gently I placed it back onto the callous concrete and with a graceful bound, I lifted horizontally into the air and down I flew. 

With my eyes closed I listened to the sky whisper screams into my ears. My hair and clothing became weightless and trivial. My arms drifted outstretched beside me, trying to grasp the slightest breath of wind that could carry me. I opened my eyes to see what was to come. I looked to my feet.

The brick of the building that sat behind me now passed beneath my feet with indefinite speed. The cold air wrapped itself around me but held no reassurance of care. Nothing was what it had seemed and the whispered screaming now became ruthless and cruel. I knew of the mistake I’d made and with arms held out I pried at the clouds with my fingers. 

Something had to give way and give in to my mistake. 

The ashen bird that had danced so far above me soared beside me. Circling around me, it no longer danced. I cried out to the little bird. The bird which I thought was the color of soot was actually brightly decorated in blues and light pinks. It held so much hope. Around me it darted and then soared into the empty abyss once more. 

The gray and gossiping clouds above adopted an orange and pink glow. The bricks parallel to my feet began to pass at a slower pace. The air that bit at my skin now felt warm and hugged the wounded soul of mine. The tears streaming from my eyes began to fall down my cheeks as my decent became more controlled. The clouds and their brilliant hue held me close. My hair gently swayed with the loving breath of the breeze and I regained my own breath when my feet felt the cool of the concrete. I limply stood with my arms clutching my chest. 

My fingers entwined and grasped onto the pleasant heartbeat I finally found. 

With a frantically hopeful gaze I stared into the sky. The completely desolate sky now held the hues of a painting. With unearthly grace the bird sang and danced above. I searched it for answers and within moments found it futile and instead, smiled. With a heart unfamiliar and breath strangely new, I silently thanked the angelic bird.  

I looked to the sky and promised only the most beautiful of intangibles in return of my life. 
In return for the gift of a soul.

Depression and the persuasive ideas of suicide are something I continually struggle with. There is an easily told lie that when you're a Christian those battles become either less frequent or easier to overcome. I wish it were true. Maybe it's just that I'm not a good enough Christian, which is a solid possibility.

But I'm fighting for my life. I'm fighting with my life. And when I resurface championed I feel so close to God I know He's close enough to hear the whispers of praise in my bones. The promises of intangibles.

And though my promises are full of heart and life, they are easily forgotten once I enter the world again. My poor Father, so forgiving, so passionate and loving. So careful. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death and fear its evil once again, He is here. Here to take my hand when I let him and lead me back home. His silly child. Making up plans and outrageous adventures. Thinking she's old enough to do it on her own. And when my plans collapse around me in the cold dark world, when I'm falling into death, He is there to take me home again.

1 comment:

  1. Amazingly beautiful post, Amanda! You are such an incredible writer, and your honesty is so inspiring!! Hugs to you!