My hands are in my pockets. My fingers are freezing. I am living on a timeline that continually pulls me between past and present; tugging me to live in both places. Time has changed, yet I remain and I can barely explain what life is like now. Strangers see him as just another person. I saw him as another part of me; often times the better part. I gave him a direct path to my heart. He in turn guarded this passageway. Now I am exposed to a lonely world. Who will protect me?
God, take your place in me. Slip into every corridor and back alleyway. Direct me along time. Keep me on course. You know the way and see all dimensions that intersect the line on which I stand. Keep track of me. I don’t want to be lost in grief. I approach you for you see all things and know more than my limitations. You are my heart’s healing. You are composed when I am conflicted. When I am immobile, you are my movement.
My hands are in my pockets. Maybe I am hiding. My fingers are cold. Maybe I am trying too hard to be my own comfort. God, be my console. You are both strong and tender. Be my strength and be my tenderness. Soften my temperament. Relax my anxious thoughts. Through my trauma, be my promise for the future. Take the plans you have ordained, those which I cannot see, and help me to trust that they are good.
I take my hands out of my pockets and lift them up to you. You are warmhearted and loving. I am detached and broken. Don’t lose sight of me. I want to be open to the new life that moves along my timeline. Stay with me. Even if I step back or tread softly forth. Guard my coming and going. Guide my motions. Protect me.
