On Losing Your Voice

I’m not sure where God and I stand these days. Since He doesn't change, it seems I don’t know where I stand in relation to him.

Am I directly in front of him but looking to the side?

Am I crying in the corner, shaking, shrugging off his hands?

Am I sitting on a chair having a staring contest?

Am I yelling with tears, at my end in frustration?

I think I’m behind him. My back turned to his back, holding a pretty cocktail talking to someone else at a party, and I’m telling myself I don’t care, but I do care – more than a little. My party eye shadow and flirty hand gestures aren't fooling anyone. I’m a bit lost and I avoid confrontation with the one party guest I’m there to see, playing some childish game of hard to get.

I've previously spent most of my life having the yelling contest, or conversely curled up in God’s lap. Our bi-polar relationship came to an end, around the same time my anxiety came to an end, around the same time my wrong relationship came to an end, around the same time I moved with three suitcases from Dallas, Texas, to New York City, around the same time I stopped writing with passion.

And here we are – at a cocktail party fooling no one. I should just put down my fancy drink, tear off my false eyelashes and walk in front of God and ask him why I’m being made a fool. Why I believed for 5 years that he would heal my knee, but 16 doctors, the last of which were at the best hospital for joints in the US, can’t help me. And the one person who can help me is silent.  

I've lost my gumption and my voice. So I finish my cocktail and leave the party.