But God

Estimated reading time: 4 minutes:-)

July 28, 2020

“You were made for such a time as this.”

For these burning fires?

These fearful faces

And arguments in the kitchen?

I don’t know what to say to the families that lost their children

To the parents who didn’t die first.

They say I’m hand-picked by God

For days like these

But I can barely slog through the confusion and chaos

How can I lead your people, God?

I’m a sheep, just like they.

What do I say to the angry people

Who yell at me in department stores

For making them wear a mask

I just work here.

What do I say to my heroes,

When I don’t feel like I am enough

When I feel like I fall short

But I can’t be vulnerable.

I can’t show them I am weak

I am supposed to lead.

I feel such a weight on my shoulders to perform

To play

To write

My best

To speak truth into blackness

And calm crying children

And clean my bathroom

And drive brothers to practice

And practice

And the standard can’t be reached.

I can feel my breath tighten

Like a mouse trap

A gut feeling that snaps me into fear.

What are you doing God?

All the world around me screams for my pity for my attention for my action

What do I do?

On nights when I’m exhausted I surf Instagram and see

“Rest easy”

And

“Please pray”

And

“BLM”

And

“I survived.”

When will it end?

And what can I say when I feel like only a spectator, chained to my sheltered life, hiding behind windows and peering through at the chaos that reeks havoc around me?

I wish I felt devastated.

But instead, a feeling of tumultuous confusion assaults me.

A feeling of guilt, guilt for not understanding. Not empathizing.

Sympathy is not empathy.

How can we live in this?

Two days ago, I sat in our break room eating a tortilla with some ham and cream cheese because mom hadn’t gotten groceries yet and I was alone. There was only one chair in the Colorado store and I sat in it. It swiveled. The naked bulb that hangs twenty feet up flickered for a moment, then stilled. The compressor that prints shirts hummed. I can still see the room–boxes towering around me on industrial shelves, marked with CR for Castle Rock and Suit 920. And I saw racks of hoodies piled in the middle, a small circle table in front of me. A trash bag holding the rest of my lunch. I have 17 minutes left. The mini fridge on the opposite wall feigned humor with home-made magnets my coworkers constructed in their many dull hours. A coffee maker sat erect beside it, an old landline shackled to an outlet below. Everything smelled like cotton and dust and Windex and peanuts maybe. And in my chair I sat, eating, scrolling through my phone as if the world is the way it should be. And then a face drifted across my screen; bright colors and advertisements and outfits and beautiful women and friends are interrupted by a face, faded, eerie. An acquaintance. “_____ passed away last night at 2:34 P.M….” 

How can we live in this?

We live in challenging times. I wrote this journal entry not long ago, and I am still challenged to this day. It is difficult realizing YOU were made for such a time, a time of chaos and deception and havoc.

But God knows what he’s doing.

Psalm 49:14-15 – “They are like sheep and are destined to die. . . . But God will redeem me from the realm of the dead; he will surely take me to himself.”

Psalm 73:26 – “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

Psalm 86:15 – “But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”

Published by Annabelle Healy

Annabelle Healy is 17 and loves to write fantasy novels mostly because high school AP classes and homecoming dances are too stressful. Her novels have received multiple awards including a gold medal from the national Scholastic Art and Writing competitions, placing her beside award alumni such as Stephen King and Truman Capote. She is currently publishing her debut fantasy novel, Far Below Human Eyes with Morgan James Publishing.

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