Lord,
Today was an enigma.
Suffering through the wee hours with my familiar but cruel cranial companion, my sleep is stolen a grain at a time as precious sand yawns past the inevitable nape of the hourglass into the abyss. Where does time go, when it’s spent? Maybe wasted time goes to hell, and time well spent is redeemed along with the virtues attached to it. Maybe. I will my skull to relax, else ripples of napalmish piranhas will bore through grey matter and eat a hole in the weary bone that keeps it from evaporating into thin air.
Stupid and sluggish, I’m clutching at vertical while defying the dizzy cadence of my second medicinal dance partner in four hours. And blinking and squinting, sighing and praying through poor posture in my favourite easychair, massaging my face until I imagine my features are gone, inviting You to make me more than I am—which, today, isn’t much.
Staring now at the punishingly bright rectangle perched on my lap, I want to go to bed but find myself clicking and dragging and shifting and returning anyways. Praying again. Then tapping and deleting and editing and suddenly, it’s time for lunch. I know because my stomach feels like it’s having an out of body experience, like a vacuous black hole has willed the antimatter roiling like primordial potential in my stomach acid to evolve, and to speak, and to create more emptiness for its own sake.
I get up and eat… two cookies. And inhale a banana. Still wondering, almost concerned, if my brain is ever going to come back for a visit. And then it hits me: How did I get so much done? Maybe tomorrow I’ll look at my accomplishments and wonder how they seemed so brilliant today. Maybe. But for now, I want to say… This was you, Spirit of God. Thank you for filling me, using me in my weakness, somehow accomplishing more under a migrainous taskmaster than I usually do on my best days.
You are wonderful, and my heart is yours.