Wednesday, August 20, 2014

A Constant Companion

Most of us have something we always turn to when we're hurting, or troubled, or frightened. For some, it's writing, or dancing, or drawing. For others, it's running, or basketball, or lifting weights. We all need that one thing that gets us through lonely nights, and the chaotic days.

Since I figured out how to put letters together to form words, and words together to form thoughts, my one thing has usually been writing. A pen and paper has been my release, my therapy. It's how I've dealt with many pains in this world. It's how I've expressed my dreams and fantasies, and my fears and anger.

And when writing fails me, and that emptiness threatens to defeat me, I turn to painting. I toss random colors on a canvas, attempting to express that which I cannot find the words to express.

And when that still fails, I walk. I envelope myself in the emptiness. I revel in the knowledge that no one truly sees me. My words and images - those I could not put to paper, flutter throughout my mind, entwining with the darkness whispering around my heart.

Two years ago this month, this is precisely what happened. The fear and pain in my heart was too great for words... too great for pictures. And so I walked the empty streets, prepared to enjoy the loneliness. But I was met with comforting arms that allowed those unshed tears to find a way to fall.

This helped to bring focus to my writing, and my painting. It helped to bring a purpose to it all - a purpose I felt was needed. But by giving it a purpose, it lost the ability to be my constant companion. When the emptiness and pain and loneliness slithered in, I was left with nothing. My constant companion was gone. And soon, that which brought the purpose was also gone.

But the purpose remained - God.

But what good is the purpose without the passion? What good is it to write about God if I can no longer feel Him? I seek Him now in Church and Bible Study. I seek Him in my studies for my next post, or in my quest to find a new image to paint. But He's no where to be found. No matter how hard I search, I've lost Him. I've lost my passion. I've lost my constant companion.

And though my pen still hits the paper, and my brush still strokes over the canvas, it no longer eases the pain or emptiness engulfing my heart. I sometimes wish I could abandon this purpose - go back in time a couple years ago. I am so lost, drowning in the darkness. 

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