Take Me Home

She sits alone on the floor in her room, knees tucked securely to her chest, and she holds her bible tightly to herself, as though the hands of some unseeable thing were trying to pry it from her arms, robbing her of comfort and placing upon her solitary self, affliction and fear. Why this again, Jesus? Sometimes it was not merely enough to read the words of her Father- she needed to tangibly cradle it against her, and feel the assurance, the solace which seeped through its tattered pages, worn with time and eyes, for she had been here before. It hurt to return again.
She can taste the saltiness of her tears as they travel down her cheeks, and fall to the corners of her mouth. They are much expected visitors. I’m sorry for crying. Sounds of quiet whimpers escape her closed lips, though she tries to hush them with thoughts of shame for such emotion, yet struggles to veil her mind and heart’s unspoken distraint. She cannot help but feel this way. She cannot help but unfold her hands and look down upon their humanness, then lift them beyond the limitations of her ceiling, and to the Almighty who sits on high and waits for her, reaching to take hold of those hands, and draw them to His face. I don’t deserve you.
She cannot help but wonder if she is the only one in the world that ever felt this way. Perhaps she is, but no one can know to her extent. She clasps one hand over her heart, as though aching with physical pain, and closes her eyes to blind her from the world. Just for a while. I can’t do this anymore. There is no one to hold her in arms of certainty, and no one to still her trembling form, which is overwhelmed with hurt so desperate, so consuming, that she longs for her soul to lift and leave her aching body, to fly on widespread wings and soar again. She questions her willingness to try again, the willingness that takes her by the wrist and spins her to where her feet meet the ground again, and she rides out the trial, the willingness that whispers against her pounding ears words that scream perseverance, hope. She waits for those words againg. Just take me home, Jesus.