The Fog

Lately it feels like I have been living in a fog.

A cold quiet mist surrounds me with a veil that blocks the path ahead of me and the one that I left behind.  It is cold here and I shiver, confused and alone.  I am searching and searching and longing for a hand to materialize from the mist, to feel the firm grip in mine, to pull me through the valley towards higher ground.  To help me climb the hill to where the sun will be shining on my face, burning away the mist that consumes me.

But my outstretched hand is left untouched.  As I reach for something, someone, some way out, the tips of my fingers disappear in the fog.  And they touch nothing but the ever present chill of the air.  I have stumbled so many times from the journey, from not knowing my path that my knees are bleeding profusely from scraping against the rocks.

 It triggers a memory of when I was a young girl.  I have never been the most agile of creatures and much to the chagrin of my parents would often fall and skin my knees.  I vividly recall one Sunday after church when we were visiting the fountain at the mall.  I was decked out in tights and shiny black shoes, and somehow I wound up scraping myself on the sides of the fountain and I looked down to see the bright swath of red blood on my snowy white tights.  I was embarrassed then, because although I wore a fancy dress and shiny shoes, I knew that everyone would find out I was a fraud.  I wasn’t a pretty little girl in a dress but a tomboy who couldn’t walk a straight line without running into everything in her way.  I carry those scars on my knees to this day, the scars of a girl who couldn’t help but stumble every time she tried to run.

I am feeling the sting of disappointment.  I have come so far, I have tried so hard for so very long.  I have held onto Faith, Hope, the belief that something great was right around the corner.  I honestly believed that when I got to where I am now the puzzle of my life would start clicking into place.  But so far the fog has gotten heavier, denser, and my fear of making a mistake even greater.

Where do I go from here?  And how do I get there?

A while ago I stopped picturing what my life was going to be because it had gotten so blurry I simply couldn’t see.  The vision I had of my future has been erased.  I used to think that was fine because now I had a blank slate on which to write a new story, a new tale, but that tale has long since lost its appeal.  It is very hard to write a new story when you can’t find your pen.  And the inspiration has left you somewhere between a shattered dream and heart wrenching pain.

Oh how I long for the climb to be over.  I need to rest, I need to find the light that I have been searching for.  The hand to pull me through.  I need to feel the rough palm enveloping mine, the sure grip of one who knows where to go, helping me get to where I need to be.  I have been trying to carry the weight of our future on my own and the burden is just too great.  I still have Faith and Hope and Belief in something greater, but they have blurred like the view around me.  They too, are shrouded in the fog.

I have to find my way soon.  I have to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and my heart.  I have to know that I have not been walking circles in the valley, or walking towards the edge of a cliff that drops to jagged rocks down below.

Soon, I need His hand to pull me through.