Gray Blankets

The word confess comes from the latin word “To harmonize”. It literally means to agree with God. Is that why I find it so hard to confess to Him right now? Because I cannot agree with Him? I sat on my couch, Bible open this morning, trying to read. But there was no familiarity there. Black words on a white page. That was it. Black and white staring back at me. No familiar words being read to me. No compassion, no tenderness, no love story. There was no red spilling down the page. No more blood linking hearts. Only black and white.

I am 31 years old. I have never been married. I have never had a real relationship with a man. My life is made up of many stories, but a love story is not one of them. And yet, I feel as though I understand the pains of divorce, these pains of separation. I woke up one day and my heart was tired, my soul overwhelmed. I sat up in bed weary. Shoulders hunched, heart sunken. I sat among a sea of gray blankets, staring. He tried to say something to me, but I could not speak to Him. Him. The love of my life. The one I literally felt tied to from birth. The one I could never run away from. I could not speak to Him. And so I turned my head, I turned my head and I stopped listening to Him. I asked Him to be quiet, because I needed rest. But the longer I distanced myself from Him, the less restful I have felt. There is no rest without Him. This body is tired, and it only grows more so. There is no rest without Him.

But we are separated now. And I find myself rolling the same question over in my mind, like a quarter rolled across my knuckles, over and over the question lingers: How does one fall back in love? How does one step back into the throes of relationship when you have lived for so long without them. How does one confess when she cannot agree with God. There is no harmony to sing. I cannot harmonize with Him for I cannot find His melody. Or perhaps, I do not like His melody. I do not know. I am so angry with Him. Angry at this world. Angry at all the pain and all the sickness. I watch as these diseases tear up the lives of those who live. The ones who want to be something. The ones who want to do something. I watch as the terrors intoxicate our loved ones. How with each drink, each inhalation, each swallow, they let go of what they are, who they are. I watch as pain destroys. The pain of not being enough, of not doing enough, of not achieving enough. These people who want so much and get so little. I watch as their souls decompose. I watch as so many carry on, unaware they have even fallen victim to the prey. I watch as they keep striving, keep moving.  Bone to bone, thread bare souls, wondering what they have become without the words to ask.
Do I confess this to Him? Do I tell Him all the wrong, broken things I see? Do I confess my anger to Him? Because I know He can already see it.  Do I confess how much I miss Him? Do I confess the screams I keep locked up inside of me? The ones that push and shove, the ones that demand action, the ones that fall helplessly to the floor groaning? Do I confess this? And what if I cannot harmonize to Him? What then? What if there is no music to come out of this throat of mine. What if I am only left with aches and groans. Can He make music out of that? Can He find the harmony? Can He harmonize to me?