Last night I cried and into the pitch-black hours where coyotes howled beyond the window I lurched and pitched, shoulders wracking with the sobs so deep they hurt my rib bones.
And I just couldn’t manage the silence another night. Couldn’t bear to say the things, the words already tumbling out of my howling mouth, making up excuses for the God who stays silent while I thrash and demand an answer, demand a word to free me, and instead make my own way in impatience, walking barefoot on proverbial broken glass and know that I don’t want it to be this way. No, no… this will never work, and I am forgetting what to hope will come of all this.
But I have come this far under my own influence. I have come all this way and now, He nods in my direction. “Go on. Have it your way.”
So He waits quiet to see what I will do next but of course already knows and I wait but don’t know already and I mumble-pray-weep-plead that He just have something up His sleeve. And all the while I am Eve and I long for that fruit of selfishness and I too wonder why He is keeping good things from me, and the serpent winds between my feet while my pillow swallows tears and before I know it, I’m hissing along with the serpent’s song. I have it in my head that what God wants for me is only hard living. I am parched and licking lips for what I’m sure He must be keeping beyond my grasp.
And isn’t that the lie that gets us every time?
That He is keeping something good from us? That He is the God Who Holds Back?
And the hours pass ‘til I stir with fever and the delirium hasn’t faded. How does a girl paralyzed learn to walk in silence? How do I move an inch without knowing the way, and I am filled with doubt and fear and all the side effects of being Eve and eating fruit.