Battle weary

tiredOne month ago, upon the expiration of my 12 week sabbatical, I returned to my job in the mental health field. It’s been hard. Not really due to the hours or the schedule; that was the easy part of the transition. No, my struggle is placed elsewhere. Four weeks back in the battle and I’m noticing the trauma has been harder for me to cope with than at any other time I can recall in my 4-year tenure.


I don’t know why. Perhaps being exposed to so much brokenness made me long more intensely for wholeness. Perhaps the time away tricked me into thinking I had started seeing more of that wholeness, not wanting to believe I was merely turning my head away so as to shift the view in front of my eyes. The brokenness hasn’t gone anywhere, and if anything it has gained one up one me while I was away pretending it didn’t exist. Pretending so as to make a feeble reach towards securing my own sanity of the soul. Well my perspective has been un-shifted, and in many ways, I wish that it hadn’t.

I realize the following words are not theologically sound, but I need this moment of pure expression and cathartic rant. My heart is heavy and I need to fling honest questions towards a Deity I have to believe sits next to me, sees my red swollen eyes, and allows my fits to beat against his chest.

So void of censorship, here is my open letter to G-d


I can see the eyes of this child

But I can’t see you

I can’t even feel you

Here in this room, this tiny room with the lock turned on the handle

Are you too young-that you do not yet care?

Or are you too old and you have merely forgotten?


I wish you would speak

And that your words would be anything but empty

Maybe it’s just that you’ve lost the sight in your eyes

Or perhaps you can no longer hear their cries


Are there places you can’t reach?

I want to know because I could use somebody

To help rage

Rage against this darkness


We are going nowhere fast

And it really doesn’t matter if you notice me or not

But please, please notice her


Couldn’t you hear the screams?

The ones I heard come through the phone

As knife was put to skin

I couldn’t stand it


I wanted to reach through the phone and take away the knife

But I couldn’t

But I always thought you could

I just don’t understand… why you don’t


Maybe it’s true what they say

Maybe the love does run out

But isn’t there more on the way?


Because I’m trying

Trying to rage against the dying of the light

Only it seems the darkness wins every round


What happens when I can’t do it anymore?

When the years and bruises render me a worthless worrier

With hands and heart that no longer work


What happens then???

To Them???

To Me???


Do we all fade, fragmented pieces enveloped

And suffocated by that darkness

That in the end turned out to be too much for any one of us

For all of us


I know there will be a day of restoration

A day when all things will be made new

Not just the making of all new things


I ACHE for that day

Wait with bated breath for that day

With salty tear-filled eyes long for that day


Because I’m tired

Tired of looking at

Broken psyches

And dismantled minds

And bloodied bodies

And the lives of children thrown into the trash

The lives no one else sees


So I don’t know why

I swear to G-d I don’t

Why “that day” can’t be today

What could possibly be the point in a delay?




Far outside of an advent season I implore; I beg

“Come, Lord Jesus, COME!”


And I pray

“O merciful father, whose face the angels of thy little ones do always behold in heaven; grant us steadfastly to believe that this, thy child, hath been taken into the safe keeping of thine eternal love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”


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