What I’m frustrated about is waiting. It leeches from every reserve. My faith is low, my desire to write is low, my vision for the future is low, my will to believe or hope is low. Waiting reveals every ugly angle. It’s like the selfie camera on the i-phone that mirrors my face and makes me look lopsided.
Today it got as bad as me complaining up to God, “I don’t wanna be thankful for my food anymore. It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
I can’t believe that God is testing me until I fail so he can blame my unhappiness on my inadequacy. It’s like if I don’t have a good job, I just need to be thankful in a pit of despair and feces-and then God will open a door. But that’s manipulation, so I know God isn’t that. Do I need to be thankful? Yes, but thankfulness isn’t a magic potion.
I want God to know I’m disappointed, but more importantly confused out of my mind as to where he is taking me (or not taking me). And I feel like it is my fault for not knowing where I want to go. And I hear the choirs of angels saying, “This is all about your bad attitude.” But honestly I do not feel a need to look good in my struggle. I want to do justice to my struggle and not waste my time trying to look pretty or quote the right magical bible verse to get me out of it. And I want to bite all the people who struggle admirably and eat bugs and dirt in front of them just to make them scared.
I don’t have any patience right now, and I’m tired of other people’s lives overshadowing the story of my life. I just feel choked out of my own story. But I don’t have enough left in my tank to propel me forward. It’s so easy to watch myself get swallowed whole in a numbing blanket.
Today I went with my Grandaddy to The Farm to plant pumpkins even though I should have planted them a lot earlier in the growing season. But I want pumpkins, so I don’t give a shit in a bucket when you’re supposed to plant them. My God, just give me pumpkins. The best part about my day was that and the butterflies. There were hundreds of them, and they let me shake my fingers at them and film them and chase them,and then they’d land back in their huddles like they were still cool with me. (Thanks guys.)
And then we fed the fish. Fish are gross and slimy and disturbing, but I loved watching the end-of-world chaos as they fought for floating food. And the grass carp that swam up made such a big shadow in the water that I felt wonder. At a fish that is gross. I felt something. And if life can be that stupid and make as little sense and get away with being ridiculously incoherent, why don’t we allow ourselves that grace?