112. Come Alive

One more time.

I click on the track again and listen to it for the fourth time.

Each time I feel the rage burning inside of me.

I’m listening to my iPod while lying in bed, and I have a vague memory of listening to this Foo Fighters song while exploring in the woods. Back when I was naive. Back when I didn’t worry about things like what I did or didn’t believe in. Back when I walked without scars and without baggage.

But now it’s all different.

Now I feel the soft fur of Midnight next to me, a sweet reminder of a girl long gone.

This song says everything I feel right now.

I want to believe in it, but I’m not sure.

I really want to believe, Lord, but I’m not sure.

Did You really die, and did You really rise?

That sweet little story is as precious as this dog, but is it really true? It sounds nice and heroic and utterly unbelievable, but I want to believe it’s true. I do, but I have doubts because I’m here in this rotten and rotting world.

Come alive.

I want to see Your face.

Come alive.

I want to feel You here next to me.

Come alive.

I need You to be next to me.

I don’t know what to do and I feel alone and I have nothing and nobody to turn to and these prayers these prayers just keep going up like bubbles blown and popped for nothing.

Did You really save me on that train in Chicago? And if You did, then why and what for?

I want to see You.

I want to know You’re there.

I need to know that all of this is for a reason.

Please, God, tell me.

Show me.

I’m not an Abraham and I’m not a Moses and I’m not a David but I’m a somebody and I need You, God.

Please help me.

Please open my eyes.

I don’t want to keep doubting.

But I don’t know, because all I feel is utter and overwhelming anger.

Anger.

Anger at everything, including You.