Getting caught up in a storm is the story of my life.

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I’m so used to self-sabotage, so used to doing damage only I could produce. I wonder if that will change, when I decide to no longer be the driving force of my own despair, where it ain’t the devil, it’s me. Sometimes being in pain reminds me that I have a pulse, reminds that I’m alive. Like waking up in the morning isn’t enough of a jolt. I should be thankful for another day to get things right, to know what is right from wrong and do my best. That’s what I’ve been telling friends when they ask how I’m doing: I’m trying my best.

My best isn’t good enough so the trying part doesn’t help. But I don’t know what else to do. I know that I have to do enough to make it until tomorrow, even though that destination is not my call. That’s all God. I still struggle with letting go of my ending.

Thunderstorms are metaphors for life challenges. Shit gets hectic and you feel it coming, the rattle of the thunder and the loud clapping sounds of the lighting coursing through the skyline. That’s our conscience, that’s our intuition, that’s the Holy Spirit. That’s that voice inside of us that tells us to go left instead of right, to make that move and not the other. Sometimes we fail to listen and we need to see what our hearts denied from existence. So when it rains, it pours. Life becomes too much, you can’t see clearly. You feel as if it will never stop. You wonder where the break in the weather that is your life will be.

But when it breaks and the sun shines, it feels like a fresh start. It also results in growth and change. There is a beauty that comes from the growth.

I hate when I say things like that because it feels super cliche. As if I’m not tapped into the realities of life. It’s never that easy, never that glorious at the end of it all. I struggle sometimes with seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, often wondering if I’ll ever get to see this so-called light that they speak of so much. It reminds me how much I think about a world without me either by choice or God’s force. It would be easier to not be here sometimes than to deal with the lift I’ve dealt myself.

I heard in a song that God loves to make up for what we perceive as wasted time. I so want to believe that to be true. I feel as if I wasted tons of time on thoughts, people and passions that were never meant to come true. I’m not sure if they weren’t ever meant to be but I just know that they weren’t meant for the seasons I tried to harvest those dreams from the ground. I wasn’t watering those dreams with anything of substance, I wasn’t nurturing those dreams. Do I even still have dreams?

I’m waxing off these thoughts with hair soaked from the rain. I didn’t do my hair on purpose this morning. There’s that intuition.

This is my attempt to write every day in July. To read more, follow the hashtag #wedj2019!

Memoirist in spirit and in truth. Christian essayist when both the spirit and truth move me. email: crjtwrites[at]

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