Photo by Roland Denes on Unsplash
July 14, 2019
I went to bed early last night. I tell mom I’m not feeling well. But actually, I’m depressed.
So, this morning, I was lying in bed, trying to go back to sleep instead of live. But of course, that only works for so long.
I was going through my usual morning prayer time with God. Which consists of a series of tiresome questions that are pretty much the same ones I scream at the poor man every day since I figured out how to start asking the unanswerable question “Why”. How old are we when we start asking that? Two? It’s a very good thing he is the author of patience. I’m certain I try his endlessly.
“God! Why if I’m so introspective, and I can figure out why I’m doing the things I’m doing that make everything more complicated, why do I feel powerless to change course? Why can’t you help me see what I need to do? Help me! Help me! Change me! God! You made me this way! Help me fix me! Where are you???”
This line of questioning, more aptly titled pleading, went on for quite some time. I could list out all the questions I am frequently shouting out to God from the tumult inside, but I think you get the gist.
Finally, I stared open eyed at the ceiling and screamed, “What do you want me to do?”
He said, “Coco, I’m right here. I love you. I’ve always got your back. Slow down child. We’ll get there. Now how about you get out of bed, go downstairs, and make yourself a cup of coffee?”
So I did.