one question

Just morning.  Windows rolled down to the quiet, dark air; he smells like stale smoke.  He's let the hair grow out on his chin and I wonder if he'll ever look me in the eye again.  I search my heart for what should be there.  But I've mastered this.  And whatever is missing is tucked somewhere deep in my belly, out of reach.

Do you ever feel like you have no idea who you are?


I reached my arm out the window.  Needing to feel something.  Only air.  Right now.


There have been seasons in my life when I have felt tightly connected to myself.  Acutely aware of who I am and what is happening.  What God is doing.  What my role is -- the why's and how's and what's.

This is not one of those seasons.

And more often than not, I go searching.  Turn my face and reach my arm far, deep, grappling for something that is familiar.  Something that makes sense.  Something trustworthy.  Something familiar.

But it's not there.  None of it.  And one more door closes.

I have learned more in the past two months than I have in years.  I have questioned God and He has answered, however vague.  I have questioned the "church", and it has fallen even farther from my graces.  I have questioned the ghetto and found truth.  I have worked hard and slept long and not shed a single tear.

And then in a single moment, over rice and black beans, that last thread holding it all together was cut.

At first, I was not surprised.  But in the recesses of myself I began to hear a cracking.  A splitting of weakened pieces.  And the longer I thought on it, the deeper I swallowed, the more damage it did.

I started connecting dots, creating a channel for the truth to sink low and expose.  Like light, seeping.  What is done in darkness...


With the heavy shut of a Volvo's door, so one more compartment of my heart closes.  Like a dam.  One. By one. By one.  Keeping out.  Keeping in.

Do you ever feel like you have no idea who you are?


A crumbled foundation and ears filled with unfamiliar words.