Keep Away

Clutching my cell phone like it is the last morsel of food for an expected cruel winter, I wait for a call.  I wait for a text.  I wait for any sign of life outside the bubble I inexcusably created.

And it doesn’t come.

So, I lay my weary head down on my cold pillow and stare at the ceiling above my head.  Insomnia, my new best friend.  Sleep is cruel when the subconscious reminds you why you are in the current state you find yourself in.

And so it goes.

The sun rises to the sound of laughing children.  I take a peak outside my window just to feel its warmth and to bask in a happiness I once knew.  And just like it was for me as a child, the laughs outside my window turn to cruelty.

And so I observe.

Three boys.  Two, much better off than the third.  A line is formed.  The two luckier boys play a not-so-friendly game of keepaway.  The third boy considered not so normal finds himself at the mercy of two he once considered friends.  Back and forth, the two boys toss his treasured possession as the third boy hopelessly tries to regain what is rightfully his.  And the two boys just laugh at his feeble attempts.

And so I empathize.

But for me, the two boys represent God.  And the treasured possession represents something I value more than an actual concrete possession.  And it is God that takes something I once held proudly and now plays keepaway from me.  I grab the air; hoping to recapture what once was mine.  I feel the laughter at my expense.  I sense the futility of the moment.

And so I accept my fate.

And I move on.

Clutching my cell phone like it is the last morsel of food before an expected cruel winter, I rest my weary head on my cold pillow.  And sleep finally comes.  And the dreams stop.

Mid-sleep, my phone rings.  Eyes spring open.  My heart begins to race.  Could it be the moment I spent restless nights and days waiting for?  So, I answer the phone with the excitement I hadn’t known in months.

And it is the wrong number.

And God and I share another laugh.

And so it goes.

Those who cannot relate tell us we are being tested.  The clichés drip from their mouths as if comfort can be found in a sentence.  But I know they mean well.  And I know they mean well.

And we all mean well.  We always mean well.

And we move on.

Because that is life.