A Known Enigma

A Known Enigma

I am an enigma, a mystery
What I say is not necessarily what I am thinking.
And what I do doesn’t necessarily represent my motivation.

I am a thousand piece puzzle,
With less than a thousand pieces present.
Even I cannot seem to put the pieces all together.

I am something that baffles,
Both myself and perhaps many others.
Chaos and confusion housed in my physical form.

I am an ocean of secrets,
And even I am afraid to swim to the ocean’s floor.
The depths are dark and dangerous, and not for the faint of heart.

But

To Him I am as clear as day,
Transparent, an open secret.
No clever words can mask what I’m thinking,
No lovely roses can hide the abhorrent stench of my sinning,
No sweat melodies can overpower the my internal screaming,
No fancy clothes can improve my being.

And

This is terrifying.
This is liberating.
This is the worst news.
This is the best news.

For healing can come only when the Healer knows what is ailing.

A Ship Lost at Sea

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Sometimes it feels like I’m a ship lost at sea,

Blown off course by deep-seated anxiety.

I am left alone with inner turmoil and self-directed aggressions.

I am left with no real discernable direction.

See, this anxiety is a storm that not only batters and bruises,

Is whispers and shouts and permeates every fiber of my daily reality.

It’s told me that I am nothing, not worthy of anyone’s time.

It’s told me that I’m not good enough, and never will be.

It’s told me that every word I speak is a word too many.

It’s told me that every effort is just a waste of breath.

So here I float, alone in a sea of thoughts and tears,

Not sure which direction to take,

Afraid of the approaching night when the storm will rage again.

Will the crashing waves of fear and dread finally overtake my little boat?

Will the gusts of violent thoughts finally drag me under?

Will I drown in this sea, never to see the light of day again?

And though it seems the night will never end, hope comes in the fourth watch.

Hope shines in the darkness of night and does the impossible.

Hope walks on waves that logically should swallow.

Hope beckons me and reaches out.

Hope doesn’t throw shame on my already tired shoulders.

Hope instead speaks my name and says to “come.”

Hope invites me to share in the impossible with Him.

The wind and waves still seek to drown me,

But even they must bow to His commands.

I may feel like a ship lost at sea,

But to Him even the seemingly lost are known and seen.

And I know that being known by He who calms the waves

Means that I can continue on.

The waves will not take me prisoner forever.

He who calms the waves on the sea,

Can surely calm them within me.

There’s Not Enough Ink (Layla’s Words in My Mind)

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Layla* said  “there’s not enough ink.”
And what she said is what I think.

There are not enough words to describe the feelings buried deep and suppressed.
Somehow it’s not enough to just say I’m depressed.

All I know is that I’m so tired, in every way a person can be.
Drained physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

I guess the seeds I unintentionally sowed were really the heartiest of weeds.
They took root and choked out anything and everything good.

You say to come to You and You will give me rest,
Yet even when I try to pray, I often feel such distress.

These words are hollow,
like the feeling harbored deep in my chest.

And as I sink deeper beneath these waves,
I hear a whisper that He is there even in the depths.

He made the sea and He made me.
He knows both intricately.

No height nor depth – not even the Mariana trench –
can clutch me from His fist so carefully clenched.

There may not be enough ink,
but there is enough grace and mercy to keep me from the going beyond the brink.

The sea swallows sin, but it won’t swallow me.
There’s not enough ink, but there is enough of Him.


*Layla is a good friend of mine. She wrote a poem that contained the phrase “there’s not enough ink” and ever since she shared that poem with me, the phrase comes to my mind as an accurate description of how I sometimes feel. Her poem, as well as her love and the fact that she continually points to God, inspired this version.