Loving God Ain't Easy - RUTHENNA PORTERFIELD

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Lessons From My Mother

I did not have a good relationship with my Mama. She was a great provider but, not too good of a nurturer. Our arguments were more like verbal archery contests where I was the board and her insults were the darts. Mama was a pretty good shot. In my book, I talk about some of the physical trauma I experienced by her hands. Through it all, however, her love was never a question for me.

She always told me she loved me. She just didn’t know how to show it. I didn’t know how to receive it. This along with her mental illness, was the root of our problems.
Excerpt from Liberated From The Hill

We decided to call a truce as I approached my senior year of high school. But that truce would never happen. I lost my Mama in a car accident during Spring Break. Mama died but my mother survived. A woman with my mother’s face, body and voice, came home after a three month hospital stay, with no memory of ever having a daughter. With my brother in prison, I became a caregiver at the age of 16.

My mother didn’t remember much past her teenage years. So, moving her in with my grandfather became necessary for her healing. She was always a daddy’s girl. God introduced me to this young woman who eventually became the Mama I lost. This could have been an opportunity of a lifetime for others. But for a teenage girl, this was torture. Living in a house that wasn’t my home, but clearly home to my mother. Looking into the eyes of someone who used to love me but now, sees me as a stranger. Longing for a connection that died on a highway.

Honor your father and mother

My relationship with God hit some of its lowest points during my caregiving years. I struggled to understand why God would allow this to happen to me. On one hand, I kept hearing the line from the 10 Commandments about honoring your parents and how God would bless you. Then I came across another scripture that was more relatable at the time.

For a brief moment I abandoned you..
Isaiah 54:7

This was more accurate except the moment was not brief. My mother came home when I was 16 and I took care of her for the next 16 years. I felt so abandoned by God during those early years. Then, someone said something to me that made me think.

God chose to put us in the family we’re in, for better or for worse. Our blood/childhood family is a part of life that we cannot choose. This is who we were assigned to and this is who was assigned to us. So, if you can’t honor them, honor God by respecting them. And pray for revelation of what we’re to learn from our assignment.

Lessons from the assignment

Sandra Smalls Porterfield with grandchildren — My mother with her grandchildren

One of the major things I learned immediately following my mother’s death was that she was a woman before she was my Mama. Caregiving gave me a peak into the past. I saw her personality in a way I had not seen during the first 16 years of my life. Her likes, dislikes, humor and other traits were nothing like mine. It made me understand our clashes a bit better.

I also learned about some of her dreams. Being a parent was never some deep seeded desire of hers. It was an expectation of the time in which she lived. This probably affected many of her actions when it came to parenting me and my brother. I couldn’t judge my mother anymore. How could I judge a woman I never knew?

At the end of the day, parents are individuals first. They are humans which make them imperfect. Their love is imperfect. This means their decisions may not always be right because they come out of an imperfect love. But God’s love is perfect and he is always right. He did not make a mistake giving you the family you have. He assigned them to you with wisdom and a purpose.
Pray to understand the purpose.

For more on this story, check out my book Liberated From The Hill!
Get your signed copy here.

Calling My Biological Father

I had to listen to my own words!

My sister called this morning. Calls from her are few and far between. I share the same biological father with three sisters and a brother, but our mothers ensured we knew and loved each other. We have allowed time to put more distance than just miles between us. However, we still love one another deeply. So when I saw her name on my phone, I immediately answered.

“You may want to call Daddy,” she said. “Rose died this morning.”

I was quiet for a moment. Rose was more of a character in my life than a real person. Her role in my childhood was brief but significant. If you read my memoir (available here) she is an early plot twist in the story. I never really saw her as my step-mother for a couple of reasons. This was mostly due to my near, non-existent relationship with my biological father. I rarely spoke with him which means I never spoke with her. So when my sister told me what happened, silence was my natural response. It wasn’t shock or grief. I honestly didn’t know what to say.

Communicating with my biological father

“Would he really want to hear from me,” I asked my sister?
“Yes,” she quickly replied. “Why do you think he wouldn’t?”

I’ve been through a lot of tough times including financial ruin, a cancer scare, depression and a suicide attempt. My biological father’s voice was never one I wanted to hear in those dark moments. I was comfortable with the decades that passed without speaking. Then my mother died. And he showed up at the funeral. Suddenly, I realized how much I didn’t know about myself and decided to find out through him.

Over the last 14 years, we’ve spoken occasionally. Initially, he pushed for connecting a little too hard. This led to my quick retreat. After about a year, we tried again. Now he is understanding and respectful of my desire for brief conversations only. This is all I can handle with the majority of my family members. I made the false assumption that he couldn’t handle talking with me during this difficult time. I falsely assumed that he handled grief the way I handle grief. I was wrong.

Making the call

It’s important to note that this is the day after Father’s Day. Yesterday, I debated whether or not to call my biological father. A part of me wanted to believe it didn’t matter. Ultimately, I made a lazy decision to let the day pass because I did not have the energy for the conversation. The choice nagged at me all evening. When my sister told me what happened, I knew I couldn’t put it off. But, I had to pray for the words.

I’m still going through a lot right now, financially and spiritually. Encouraging someone else, particularly this person, just seems like an emotionally exhausting exercise. It sounds selfish but it’s the truth. God was going to have to help me with this one. I had no words.

“I cannot do it…but God will give Pharaoh the answers he desires.”
Genesis 41:16

Joseph was stripped of his clothes and sold, by his brothers, into slavery. Then he was falsely accused and thrown into prison for years. While sitting in jail, someone asked for his help. With all he was going through, how was he able to do it? He couldn’t. God had to do it. The words had to come from God. So, I asked God for the words and he gave them to me.

“Tell him you love him,” God said.

That’s what I did. I told my biological father that I loved him and that I will pray for him. Holy Spirit took it from there. Tears flowed as I told my father I was grateful for him. Where did that come from? I acknowledged that God sovereignly chose him to be my biological father. There was something in him that God wanted me to have. And yes, I’m grateful for it.

Prayerfully, God will show me the goodness he wanted to pass to me through my father. That call may begin to clear a path to the answer.

*Rose’s name is changed for privacy.

Purchase the book at www.liberatedbook.com

Feeling Hopeless Waiting

I have been working towards a vision God promised me, for years. But it feels like I’ve been going through the same cycle over and over again. And it leaves me feeling hopeless.

In 2007, God told me I would never have another full-time regular job again. The first time he said it, the news tickled my ears. The idea seemed logical because he promised that I would be an actress. So having regular jobs would end at some point. He was right. Ever since I lost my job a few months after he told me, I have never been able to get a full-time position anywhere. I’ve been on interviews and received offers…only to have them rescinded for some inexplicable reason. This would be fine if his promise had been fulfilled. But 17 years later, I’m still waiting on my first, paid acting role.

This is how the cycle started. God told me to do something crazy. I did it. There would be some positive results for a short period of time. But ultimately, I’m still waiting.

God Prolongs the Promise

People often talk about the 10 plagues of Egypt that freed the Children of Israel. I had not really read the story until I decided to do a season focused on Exodus for my podcast. There was one phrase repeated throughout the passage that really bothered me.

But the LORD hardened Pharaoh’s heart, and he would not listen to Moses and Aaron, just as the LORD had said to Moses.
Exodus 9:12

God promised Moses that he would bring the Israelites out of bondage. Then he told Moses and Aaron to do crazy things like touch the water with a staff or throw dust in the air in front of Pharaoh. They obeyed and miraculous plagues pummeled the Egyptians. But none of them mattered because God already made Pharaoh so stubborn that he wouldn’t let the Israelites go. Over and over again, they went through this cycle. When I got to the sixth plague, I wondered if or when the Children of Israel began to lose hope.

I’m Feeling Hopeless

Today, I walked into my apartment and lost it.
I’m in a very familiar place (read it here.) My rent is three months past due. I’m working as hard as I can but just not making enough. I’ve definitely grown to a place where I’m not as anxious about it anymore. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m tired.

I really expected to return from work to a 3-day notice on the apartment door. It may seem strange but I actually wanted to see it because it would bring some finality to this limbo I feel like I’m in. Financially, God has to step in and make a way out of no way in this situation. But not seeing the notice means another day of waiting…and I’m tired.

So, after a long day of mishaps, losing things and getting lost, I came back to a blank door. Maybe I should have been grateful. But I was mad. I walked into the apartment, snatched everything out of my bag and hurled the items across the room. Most of it was from my vision notebook with business plans and ideas. I threw it so hard that the rings opened and paper flew out of the binder.

Waiting is hard. Feeling hopeless is natural. Anger is human. All of this is true but truer still is God’s love.
He knows what he’s doing. God also knows me. So he’ll put up with my tantrum. And I will continue to pray, trust and believe.
I pray the following verse regularly.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Romans 15:13

Worship God Through It

Noah’s act of worship in Genesis 8:18-21 teaches us how our worship is simply a gift we offer to the God we love.

I am still fascinated by a young woman I saw while riding the bus a few years back. She didn’t notice me sneaking peaks at her. The bus was not too full this afternoon. She sat in one of the front, aisle facing seats. When I boarded the bus, I sat diagonal from her with a clear view. I always notice other Black females in any setting. It lets me know I’m not alone. I noticed her right away.

Her skin was brown coffee like mine. Her hair was thick and blown out from its probable coily texture. She was definitely younger than me. She was reading something intently. Ever so often, she would close her eyes and silently mouth something. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and returned to what she was reading. At first, I though she was Muslim until I saw and sensed something beautifully familiar. She closed her eyes and smiled as she lifted her hands. She mouthed something still inaudible. But I recognized it. This girl was in very deep and personal worship.

Worship Anywhere

It had only been a couple months since my car was repossessed. (Follow that story here.) Though I understood why it happened, I was still a bit angry with God because he continued to tell me about a life I would have that looked nothing like what I was living. I was desperately trying to hold on to hope. My prayers were centered around one verse.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing so that by the power of the Holy Spirit, you may abound in hope.
Romans 15:13

I prayed this verse daily. But getting on the bus at 4:30am for work made it seem as if God wasn’t hearing my prayers. Then I saw this young woman in worship.

I was in awe. The way she dismissed the looks of other passengers was bold and admirable. I wanted to defend her when I saw two young people sitting across from her. They looked at her with annoyed eyes. I glared at them with disgust but quickly realized this young lady did not need my help. She was focused on what she was doing. She was focused on her King.

The bus stopped at a transfer point where she got off. I watched her until she walked out of sight. I could not get her off my mind for the rest of the evening. We were both on the bus. I knew nothing about her life. But I know she had enough boldness to worship God regardless of her circumstances or surroundings.

Worship Anyway

That young woman still crosses my mind. She was not putting on a show or forcing anything on anyone. Her actions were genuine. Her love was sincere. I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to know what she had been through to enable her to be so carefree with her worship. Maybe, she had been through nothing at all. Maybe she just knew the one with whom she was so deeply in love.

I love God with every fiber of my being. And he loves me. That love, alone, makes him worth my worship. He shows his love in every breath I take. So, why not use that breath to speak of the beauty of his creation, the greatness of his power or the wonder of his love. Even as I go through the storms of life, God is holy. Yet in his holiness, he still loves me.

And for that reason, I will worship God through the storm.

Through The Storm

Inspired by Genesis 8:1-4

I fell hard last week.
After sitting in a library, trying to help a little boy with his homework and losing patience, we got up to go to his next destination. The rain was steady all day. We made it to the library doors safely, through the showers, when we arrived. By the time we left, the rain had picked up, along with my frustration with my job. All I could think about was making the day end quickly. So, I told the little boy we were going to make a run for it. His youthful excitement carried him halfway to the car. My frustration landed me in a deep puddle and on the wet concrete.

I couldn’t move for at least 10 seconds. Questions raced through my head.
“Really, God,” my soul yelled in my ear? “On top of everything else, this has to happen?”
The pain began to surge through my joints while large raindrops fell hard on my back. I could hear the little boy asking if I was ok. It was enough to bring me out of my inner rant and back to reality. Blood trickled from wounds on both hands and knees as I got up and limped my way to the car. I drove through the storm to his martial arts lesson. Thankfully, his instructor saw I was in pain and dismissed the little boy early. Again, I drove through the storm to get him home.

Home for me, was still a couple of stops away. I was in too much pain to cook for myself. Also, there were no band-aids in my medicine cabinet. If I was going to eat and take care of these wounds, I would have to go to a drug store as well as pick up some food from somewhere. There was no one to turn for help and it made me angry. Exhaustion kicked in as I sat in the restaurant parking lot. I felt so alone.

The Eye of the Storm

I grew up in North Charleston, South Carolina where hurricanes hit hard. The most deceptive part of the storm is its eye. It is the center of the circular mass that looks like a blank hole in radar. After the massive winds and rain pounding the land, there is a very quiet calm. Everything is still. People come out to look at the damage and check on each other. But after a while, you can hear a faint whistle in the air. You may feel a drop or two. And you realize, the winds are picking up again. The second half of the storm has come, usually harder than the first.

eye of the storm image from outer space — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I feel like I have been in a hurricane season that has lasted for at least 15 years. God told me I would never work another regular, full-time job after losing my well paying management position in 2008. Initially, I was excited. Clearly, this meant he was going to take me into my entertainment dreams and his vision for my life. Instead, the storms began. Winds blew homelessness and financial struggle through a seemingly secure lifestyle. Disappointment and discouragement rained ferociously on my thoughts almost every day. There have been times when I thought the storm was over. Roles came my way. I published a book. Bills were finally being paid on time. But these glimmers of sunshine never lasted. It was always just the eye of the storm.

One of my fondest childhood memories is going through Hurricane Hugo on the night of September 21, 1989. I remember how calm my Mama and Stepdaddy were as I cuddled with them in the bed. At first, I thought I was strong enough to sleep in my own room. But a huge crack of thunder sent me running across the hall. The windows rattled so loud in the midst of the 140mph winds. We could hear shingles being torn off the roof. The storm was destroying my world outside. But inside, I slept peacefully between the two people who loved me more than my adolescent heart could fathom.

Rest in the Storm

The storms of life have been rough. Sometimes, it feels like they will never end. But Hurricane Hugo ended on September 22, 1989. I have to remember how I made it through that scary night. Instead of trying to get through it on my own, I ran to the arms I knew would take care of me and protect me. That’s what I have to do now.
This storm will end. I just have to trust the arms of the one who takes care of me. He will protect me through the storm. And until it’s over, I can rest peacefully, knowing that I’m safe in the arms of the one who loves me more than I can fathom.

Forgive My Brother

Inspired by Genesis 42:8-25

True hatred usually stems from love betrayed. I learned this from my brother.

I know only a few people in my life who believe I can do anything. My brother, ‘Cole’ is one of them. I often used to say, “I could tell my brother I was going to jump over the moon and his response would be, ‘Well, if anyone can do it, Sis, you can.’ ” His blind faith in my abilities was one of the ways I knew he loved me.

What happens in this house

My brother struggles with loving people. There are many factors that affect his tendency to hold back or lash out in relationships. I listened to brokenhearted women talk about his behavior for decades. A few family members have been on the wrong side of his bad decisions. No one had it worse than my Granddaddy.

I watched my grandfather continuously forgive my brother for his constant disrespect. Granddaddy loved Cole. His love fueled his belief in Cole’s potential… Now, all of that potential would sit in a prison cell. Today, my grandfather mourned a young man he would never see.
excerpt from Liberated From The Hill

Growing up, I never had to forgive my brother for anything. I held no resentment towards him for being in prison while I had to take care of our mother and grandfather alone. Upon his release, I rushed home from college to see him and take him shopping. He wasn’t there for my mother in a way that I wanted, but we still held each other as they lowered her casket into the ground. I understood his distance from her and his treatment of women though I didn’t excuse it. There was never any distance between us, until a few years ago.

The drama begins.

The family issues after a loved one’s death is typical. But, our story would be different. I spoke with my brother repeatedly about business and things seemed settled. However, my stepfather warned me that words mean nothing until the papers are signed. He was right. Eventually, my phone calls went unanswered. There was no response to text messages or emails. Years passed and the papers to settle my mother’s estate still sat on an attorney’s desk. I became another disregarded person in my brother’s life.

Then my brother did something I felt was unspeakable. I received a frantic phone call from my aunt about items removed from my mother’s home while my stepfather sat helpless in a wheelchair. As I listened to the details, a very new emotion overwhelmed my soul. It was fury. I called my brother immediately but was sent to voicemail. Furious words poured out in an unrestrained message. In a matter of minutes, my relationship with ‘Cole’ became a stereotypical story of family drama.

Forgive my brother for peace.

The next year, my stepfather died. I dreaded seeing ‘Cole’ upon returning home for the funeral. The sight of him made my blood boil. He gave me a familiar smile I saw when he tried to convince ex-girlfriends to take him back. It infuriated me even more. The fury led my mind to detailed plans of revenge. For years, I wrote episodes in my head worthy of a primetime tv show. They replayed over and over. I wanted my brother to feel so much pain and loneliness that he would beg me for forgiveness. That’s when the Holy Spirit checked me.

Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath…”It is mine to avenge. I will repay,” says the LORD
Romans 12:19

Suddenly, I realized my desire to be God in this situation. I turned the consequences of my brother’s actions into my job; a job to which I was never assigned. Who was I to make my brother pay for what he did? I spent emotional and psychological energy on trying to do something I would never be able to do. The vain, mental efforts were taking my peace. Actually there weren’t being taken. I gave them away with every mention of my brother’s name. Something had to change.

So, I talked to God. I asked God for forgiveness for trying to be him. Then, I called my brother.
That’s when he answered.

‘Cole’ listened to me calmly tell him about my disappointment in him. I forgave him which simply means I let go of my emotional attachment to his actions. This also means I let go of how he received my forgiveness. Today, our relationship is not nearly what it was before my mother’s death, but it’s better. I pray for him nightly. His salvation is the top of my list. The same blind faith my brother has in me is the same faith I have in God, that my brother will become the man he was created to be.

Why I Couldn’t Help Someone I Loved

Inspired by Abram’s story. Read here.

One of my biggest struggles is not being the good friend, aunt or sister I desire to be. Living more than 3000 miles away from family is tough. It’s even harder if you’re not in a financial place to go home when you want or do something to help when someone needs it. But the hardest part is knowing I’m in this place because God put me here.

God will tell you to do crazy stuff.

My family always saw me as the one who would do great things. The problem is they thought I would do those great things at home in North Charleston, South Carolina. Moving across the country alone, baffled them but there was nothing they could do. For a while, the distance seemed healthy and God-ordained.

Then I started to receive calls about my niece. Concerns were growing about her behavior and how she was being raised. The solution was clear. Send her to her aunt in California. It made sense. My niece would be out of a questionable environment. She would be with someone of integrity who loved her and could possibly make her see life in a whole new way. I talked to my niece. She wanted to come. I wanted her to come. But God didn’t.

The way God sent me to Los Angeles was crazy. He told me not to renew the lease on my North Carolina apartment. Ask for a job transfer. Then, pack only what could fit in my car and hit the road in two months. I argued with him. Surely, he had a more organized plan than just picking up and moving to a place where I didn’t know a soul. God heard my objections then led me to Abraham’s story.

The Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to a land I will show you.”
Genesis 12:1

My objections were overruled by God’s will.

You cannot help everyone.

After being in Los Angeles for a few years, loneliness began to sink in. I missed my friends and some of my family. So when problems arose at home with my niece, it seemed like a door was opening. I knew God did not want me to leave California. But wouldn’t he want me to help this beautiful little girl?
My prayers shifted to what I could do for my niece.

When you have to journey alone, keep looking up.

“God, please make a way for her to come here. Give me the funds I need to take care of her even if it’s just for the summer.”

Those prayers were answered with a phone call from my cousin. She asked me a very important question. “Is this really something you’re ready to take on?”
I had to be honest. The answer was no.

As much as I wanted to help someone I loved so dearly, my spirit was clear. She was not a part of the plan for my life at this time. And I was not a part of hers. I allowed my loneliness to cloud God’s vision for both our lives. Bringing my niece to L.A. could have been similar to Abram bringing Lot with him. That is not the result I wanted for my relationship with her.

Call for help and keep moving.

Sometimes, God means for you to go on a journey alone. You are not capable of solving every problem. That’s God’s job. And he’s really good at it. So, we must be obedient and stay in our own lane. Even when it means watching people we love, crash. The only thing we can do when that happens is call for help. Pray. And trust that God is on the way.

Listen to Along For The Ride

Finding God’s Light

My car shuts off when the speed goes over 45 miles per hour. I discovered this on a California freeway while driving to a beautiful cottage town for a much needed break and some undisturbed conversations with God. The destination changed quickly as I turned on the flashers and slowly pulled the car to the shoulder, praying the semi truck in the rear view slowed down in time.

Asking God Questions

God didn’t meet me in that quaint little cottage town. Instead, he met me at the Pep Boys, only 21 miles from my apartment. A few weeks later, he met me at the Nissan service counter. I didn’t want to hear from him for days. A thick darkness of frustration and self pity overtook my existence. My mind filled with memories of when God didn’t do what I begged of him. The same old questions plagued my daily thoughts. How long will I have to live like this? Will I struggle for the rest of my life? Did I really hear you or am I really crazy? The answers led my soul to a labyrinth I couldn’t see my way out of. But one verse would softly repeat in my head.

You will keep in perfect and constant peace the one whose mind is steadfast [that is, committed and focused on you– in both inclination and character.]
Isaiah 26:3 AMP

It was a gentle whisper that I initially ignored. How am I supposed to do this? But my question was answered with the same refrain. My frustration grew until finally I surrendered. I looked up scriptures to tell me about God’s character and tendencies. The scriptures were all familiar to me. Selective memory had me focused on what was happening around me instead of what I knew to be true inside me. I’ve been doing this for decades. I’ve allowed my circumstances to write a false narrative about God. They drew an imperfect picture of a perfect God in my head. That picture has been a reference in troubling times to validate my pain.

Seeing God’s Light

With this revelation, I can now begin a transformation. I have to erase the imperfect picture from my mind. Daily reading what God says about himself, will be crucial to this new painting. Allowing the sun rays to grace my skin, will be a reminder of God’s constant love. It will remind me on days the darkness surrounds me, God’s light is still there, just waiting for me to open the blinds.

The Days of Depression

I’m tired. I’ve been fighting for so long and I’m tired.

One of the hardest parts of this darkness is daily walking around in a world that doesn’t see it. They don’t see you. Part of their blindness is my own effort. I am skilled at smiling when the time comes. You give expected expressions of happiness, excitement and pleasure to people in your circle of routine. They don’t really want to know the truth when they ask, “How are you doing?” Everyone is going through something. So, I keep my problems to myself to prevent a battle of who has it worse. My closest friends are kept at a distance because…well, if I’m tired of my crap then they have to be tired as well, right?

So the fight continues.
My fear is not knowing how much longer I can fight.

This is what suicidal thoughts look like.

Yesterday, I almost did research on how much it would cost if I died. My mother was buried 8 feet instead of 6 feet under to ensure that there would be room for either me or my brother. “At least I wouldn’t have to worry about that,” I said to myself. But the thought of being buried on top of my mother was sickening. Then I contemplated the expense of shipping my body to the Carolinas. They could cremate me and send the ashes. I’d want to be spread over the waters of the Isle of Palms. This solution seemed doable since I don’t have any life insurance. Yes, I really began to think this out. I don’t remember what stopped me.

Today, I got a text from one of my best friends. We haven’t spoken in a while because as I said, I’ve kept people like her at a distance. She was just checking in. Her text message broke me. I didn’t know how to respond. My fingers typed a few responses but none of them seemed right. The wrong message could trigger a phone call and I just didn’t have the strength to talk. There is so much to explain. I felt like everything I wanted to say would only be repetition of past conversations. This leads to the sanity question.
“Am I crazy?” And the cycle in my mind begins all over again.

Now, what?

I struggle with days like tomorrow. No jobs are scheduled. This means I will be in the apartment (for which my rent is a week past due) trying to fill the time with what I think God wants. Inevitably, thoughts about my situation will arise. Then, I will numb the pain with whatever is at my disposal. It will work for a little while but ultimately be a waste of time. I’ll hate myself for wasting an entire day and begin the self loathing process. Meals will be missed. Calls will be ignored. By the end of the day, nothing of value will be done. And I’m right back where I started.

Signed,

Christian and Depressed

Am I Depressed?

Lately, I’m noticing a familiar pattern.

Ten years ago, I struggled with getting up in the morning. Getting dressed and fixing my hair seemed like pointless chores. My days were filled with watching TV reruns and YouTube videos. I went to work and came back feeling empty and defeated. If I didn’t have any jobs, I never left the apartment. Most days were spent alone without ever speaking to another human. Text messages were only about work from people who needed something. The need to eat was often ignored except when I thought it would fill the emptiness in my soul. I hated laying down to go to sleep at night because the silence gave voice to my anger, frustration and sadness. Then, I’d wake up the next day and do it all over again.

Today, it’s the same thing.
I’m wondering, “Why am I in the same place or worse than I was ten years ago?”

The Loneliness

The hardest part of this season is not having anyone to talk to about what I’m feeling. This is true for two reasons.

1. Living a life of faith is crazy. I’ve made some life altering decisions that seem crazy. Even I look at my life and know things could be better if I chose a different path. But I know what God told me and I’m trying to be obedient. There aren’t a lot of people that are crazy enough to live like this. I could really use a conversation of encouragement from someone who’s been in this position.
2. Living a life of faith is lonely. Unfortunately, my obedience does not make sense to the real world which includes people who know and love me. In the beginning, it was easy to talk to people close to me about what I was going through. But as time went on, it grew difficult to say the same thing over and over. So, I avoid conversations. I hate when people ask how I’m doing. They don’t really want to hear the answer to that question. The truth is I’m tired of living this way just as much as others would be tired of hearing it.

This is why it’s easier to be alone. It’s not that I want to look like I have it all together. I just don’t want to look like I’m always having a pity party. And, I definitely don’t want people to think I’m inviting them.

When does it end?

Every time I think things are about to get better, they get worse or nothing changes. Something will give me a little hope but it fizzles with no progress. It’s like a cycle that I’ve been in for the last 15 years. Yes. I’ve been in this crap for 15 years. At this point, I feel foolish and rightfully so. And, that foolishness just adds to the painful darkness I live in on a daily basis.

But, somehow, I’m holding on to God’s promises. It’s hard to see him in this darkness. My ears are straining to hear him and the voice of truth over the cries of reality. I’ve done everything I know to do. All that’s left is his word. So, I guess it ends when he comes through.