We met a long time ago. You came in a myriad of disguises: the villain in the movie, the monster in my dreams. You still come in my dreams, chasing me, cornering me, accosting me. But you come in the daytime too, and truth be told, I’m getting sick of you.
Mostly, when you talk to me, you talk about the future. All the things that could happen, might happen, probably will happen. Things like broken relationships and financial hardship. That I’m going to be alone, that my mind is going to be out of control, that I’m going to ruin the lives of those I love. That this life will be nothing but suffering. That I’m going to walk out on my faith, and, in doing so, lose God.
For a while I thought the antidote to you was to crawl into the arms of control. If only I knew what the future held, I would be prepared to face it. If only I had a 5-year, 10-year, 75-year plan. If only I could be the one in charge of all my relationships. If only I was given the reigns to my life.
But control doesn’t work. I know from experience. Control made me feel like I was on top of the world, but then my world came crashing down.
But now, I have truly found your antidote. The silver bullet that will finally penetrate you: Love. That’s right, Love. Not just any love, but God’s Love. And it will cut through you like a diamond blade cutting through butter. As long as I live in Love and believe in Love and trust in Love, I am no longer captive to you.
You’ll still come around, I know. But when you come in my dreams, upon awaking I will claim God’s Love. And when you come in my waking, I will simply sing of God’s Love for me or quote from His Love Letter to me. And you will run.
I am not your captive, I am not your slave, I am no longer under your influence. So long, Fear.
I could sing for You, but I do not know any songs that could capture the depth of my passion.
I could dance for You, but I do not know any dances that could express my love.
I could run for You, but I cannot run fast enough to convey my zeal.
Maybe if I could run and dance and sing at the same time. And make love and make art and make a mess. And swim and fly and drive 3,000 miles per hour.
That’s how You make me feel.
These words are so inadequate to express my adoration. But they’re all I have to give.
You deserve so much more. You deserve masterpieces, and symphonies, and galaxies.
But I have are these words, this heart, this life. I’m sorry it’s so small, my offering. I am heartbroken, wishing I could offer more to my King, my Master, my Father, my Bridegroom, my All.
Take all I am. Take all I have. Take all I hope to be.
I am, and may I always be, Yours.
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
So said Oliver Twist when asking for soup.
And so say I when asking for You.
It seems so greedy of me. Who am I to ask for more? When You’ve given me everything I possess: oxygen to breathe, food to eat, people to love, songs to sing.
But I want more. My longing is not just to possess something beautiful; it is rather to possess Beauty. My yearning is not just to be in the arms of a lover, but rather to be in the arms of Love. I do not merely wish to spend my time in the sunshine; I want to spend my time with the Son.
I crave You. I desire You more than I desire anything else. I cannot get enough of You. I’m addicted to You, to Your love and Your grace, Your presence and Your face. The more I receive of You, the more it takes to be satisfied. My heart’s on fire, and all You do is fan the flames.
Why do You want me to want You? I do not know; all I know is that I do. Bring me into Your banqueting hall and feed me with Your love. I’m desperate for You.
Please, Sir, I want some more.
On rainy days, you try to seduce me. You come in the shadows, beautiful and mesmerizing. You whisper in my ear, “it won’t hurt. It’ll be easy. Just come with me, and it’ll all be over. All the pain. All the misery. This whole world will fade away.”
But you lie. You come to me with your empty promises of paradise, when truly all you desire is my destruction. Statistics say that someone succumbs to you every 40 seconds. But statistics cannot capture all of your victim’s suffering. You team up with Darkness, Depression, Anguish, and Anxiety. They lure people into your trap, and then you get the kill.
Your name? It’s Suicide. And who am I? I am one of your targets. On your hit list, so you might say. They say you have access to me because of my brain chemistry. 50% of people with bipolar attempt to give in to you at some point. But while my biology might be the open door, I’ve got a feeling that’s not the whole story of why you want me.
It’s because I belong to the One you hate. His name is Life Abundantly. And He belongs to me. He’s the creator of sunshine and butterflies, the color of the grass and the taste of strawberries. He’s the Giver of every good and perfect gift, like marriage and children and a fulfilling career. And you want to come between us, to separate us, to destroy the Love we share. You want to steal the gifts He has in store for me. You want to shorten my history.
But you can’t. You know why? It’s because I refuse to give into you. I refuse to consider you as a valid option. Each day I go on is a day you lose. I hope you get used to the taste of defeat, because even in my darkest days I will say no to the pills, no to the knife, no to the river. I will say no to you. You cannot have me. And when you whisper those things in my ear, I will drown you out with the sound of my voice lifted in praise. And when I cannot sing, I will cry out the name of my Love.
And you will run. And someday, you will burn. Along with Darkness and Depression and Anguish and Anxiety and all the rest. You will burn into ashes, and I won’t even remember you as I dance and laugh and live Life Abundantly. For all of eternity.
Not and never will be yours,