100 Words

new post blah blah

Busy. Busy. Busy. And all for what? For jackcrap, that’s what. #Thanks to little brothers for new words.# I will crawl into a ball. Maybe cry my eyes out. As if that could help. The tidal wave still looms. It will come crashing. There is no doubt in my mind. And wash me away. Outline the Gonzalez text. Write the paper about my vision for ministry. Observe in detail that greatest commission. I could type furiously or stare blankly like a deer caught in piercing, blazing, mesmerizing headlights. Frozen. Terrified. And in the end, what will I gain? Who benefits?

It rained today. Big fat rain. Little dribbly rain. It rained yesterday. I thought I had outrun it. It pursued me across five states of highway. I drove and drove and drove some more. I drove all day long. Up at dawn. Home past dusk. And I thought I had left it all behind. I was wrong. I was through with it. Folded it so neatly and tucked it away in my sock drawer. I may be through with the past, but the past is not through with me yet. She is not through with me. Not yet, it seems.

“I’m so angry. I don’t know if it will pass.” Who is my neighbor? I shook your hand. You were dressed in Sunday best. Said you were so happy to see me. But your eyes had already trailed to the next hand to shake behind me. I was broken, bruised, bleeding. Lying in the gutter. Are you a partner with the ministry. Well, umm, no. I just moved here. Well, we really do not have the time for your troubles, but you are important so let me pray with you. Never heard from you again. You are not my neighbor.

“I’m so angry. I don’t know if it will pass.” Betrayed. Abandoned. Sealed with a kiss. Please don’t ever touch me again. Sticks and stones break my bones and with your words you murdered me. I don’t love you. Never have. Thus says the Lord. Not His will, it’s yours you do. Fuck, shit—harmless syllables. I don’t love you—now that’s obscene. Stamping the name of the Lord on your feelings, this is profanity. These are the most vile words spoken by human tongue. So self-assured. So detached. Cold. Composed. So devastating. Like a hydrogen bomb in Times Square.