 |
|
|
This is a new place. Another one. I suppose someone thinks this location will be a better fit for me. But it’s still permeated by a darkness.
Heavy darkness...so heavy.
I’ve been two weeks here as far as I can tell. I sit in my wooden rocking chair, varnish worn from many anxious hours. Hours upon hours.
Heavy hours…so heavy.
I don’t leave my chair much. Which is fine, because I just wrap my hand-knitted, green and gold flecked afghan around my head and it becomes my sanctuary. A physical shroud of separation and silence.
Heavy silence…so heavy.
This chair was my grandmother’s final gift to me. I can’t just leave it and risk the chance of another coming along to claim it as their own. No, it’s my mine. I keep my body here, and my spirit.
Heavy spirit…so heavy.
I can’t see. I can’t hear. I can barely feel anymore. Is there no light that can reach me despite the white walls and fluorescent bulbs I know are hanging bare from the ceilings? Is there no one to reach out to me and express words not muddled by pity or riddled with technical, medical jargon? Am I the only one that smells the stench of a life wasted? The putrid stink of lives rotten with failure and spoiled potential and…sin?
Heavy sin…so heavy.
What was that name…Jesus? He died from sin…I think. His mother, Eve, sinned and then was granted another life. And then she didn’t sin, so she had a son and His name was Jesus. He was the oldest of twelve. I wish I could remember the rest. I know there’s a connection somewhere. Something about Jesus and sin and heaven and raising people from the dead.
I heard He healed them, too.
Wait, I think I know now. If you ask Jesus to live in your heart, then He saves you. But saves you from what?
Oh, I remember. That’s only for people that He loves. Like the Jews and really, really bad people like politicians and whores.
So, I sit and wonder. I wonder…could Jesus love the deaf-blind, too?
But there’s no one to ask my question, no one to communicate with me. No one to even try.
The nurses carry on.
The residents keep on dying.
And I don’t stray from sitting.
In my rocking chair for hours upon endless hours.
It’s dark and silent where I’m from. No matter where I am.
My spirit is troubled and heavy…
So heavy.
And so alone.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
|
|
|
