From the wreckage build a home…

“Well now it’s clear you’re the wind and I’m the wave, oh together we can brave all the things we never knew.  So I’m making room on a boat I built for one, we can sail into the sun until our skin’s as tough as diamonds.”

Your silent whispers guide me gracefully to the shore…

“If our ship does sink, we will follow it likes stones, from the wreckage build a home, from the wreckage build a home.”

The voices have been strong of late…

“Why are you here?  What do you want with me?” I plead with them for an answer.

“We wish to control you.”  They respond in unison.

And they have.  For far too long they have controlled.  They have led.  The chains around my neck like a lowly dog, dragging me through mud.  The cuts and scrapes festering with maggots and disease and layer of dried blood upon layer of dried blood.  They pull the chains deeper into my neck and laugh as my legs are forced from beneath me.  Browned fingernails digging into the ground, holding my place, but letting go when the pulling cuts off the oxygen.  This is my life without you.

Far worse stories have been written of people who have survived.  The person who survived the Holocaust.  The 300+ who survived the sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis.  A horrible dictator who exterminated people like they were roaches or shark infested waters where people were devoured by the unrelenting ocean, being slowly weakened day by day, or devoured by the razor sharp teeth of man-eating fish.  Far worse stories have even been written about the survival of marriages.  The man who struggled through his addictions for years and cheated with prostitutes from other countries on missions trips or the guy who had a drug-laiden affair with a man of the same-sex, or the the porn addiction that turned their bank account and their relationship into a shambles.

Far worse has been written…  And they have followed one another like stones to the bottom of the sea, waiting patiently together, lying there side by side, maybe even gently touching, awaiting the moment to be set on shore and part of the rebuilding process.

It’s not fear or loneliness that causes me to still yearn for you.  It’s not physical or sexual in nature.  It’s spiritual.  And I struggle to fathom that your heart is so turned away that you don’t feel it toward me anymore.  Maybe it was God, allowing you to move on.  But I read the stories and I hear them.  The stories of people who reunited after a decade of failed relationships to be once again united with their loves.  And I feel like the closer I get to God, the more I seek Him, the more I find Him, the more He reveals Himself to me, the more He shows me how to love you.  He has not continued to bind my heart to you to torture me.  Like the voices do.  They are louder because His hand is ever stronger.  They are louder because they seek to drown out His still small voice.  His remains a redemption story.  Even if His rebuilding will never be a house with you.

And I struggle.  How are you done?  How are you over it?  How have you moved on so much that six months later you’re engaged and totally in love all over again?

I guess in the end the true nature of our relationship is further emphasized by this hard fact.  That you have and always will be stronger than me.  I’m tormented.  The shadows hunt me.  The darkness stalks me like a hungry lion.  Each day it seeks to consume me.

We were built to last.  We were made stronger than the storm.  But even things that are built to last may not if they are not maintained.  And I didn’t.  I didn’t maintain us.  I didn’t mend our sails.  I didn’t patch the leaks.  I didn’t tighten the steering.  I didn’t pray.  I didn’t fast.  I didn’t.  I didn’t.

And the silent serpents slithered through our slats.  And the wandering and wailing winds whipped us against the rocks.  And the deadly darkness drove us to depths that we could never resurface from.  And so instead of being stones, rebuilding our home from the wreckage…  I arrogantly steered us toward the jagged jetties and you fearlessly? fled.

And I’m sorry.  I pray one day I will have you; to hold, to kiss, to see smile once again.  And maybe Lauren Elizabeth and Evan Michael will be the joy of our hearts like you were mine.


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