loud quiet
My Quiet is so Loud. But I try not to criticize Her. She was a gift- an inheritance, really. My mother gave Her to me. And my grandmother gave Her to my mother. She’s been in the family as long as any of us can remember. Maybe that’s why I welcomed Her so naturally.
She used to feel safe. And sometimes She still does. But now, She mostly feels suffocating. She wraps herself around my vocal cords, pleading with me,
“Be smaller. Be smaller so they can’t hurt you.”
...She means well.
I am so, so tired.
I don’t want to go to work in the morning. I don’t want to write this blog. I don’t want to read another verse. I want to lay in silence, and in smallness. And yet, I find myself here- hours past my deadline - staring at a bright screen, waiting for words.
I’m waiting for God too.
Or maybe God’s waiting for me.
I think God’s waiting for me. For me to believe Her. But I think, even if I don’t, God will still move.
Mary and Martha didn’t expect Lazarus to breathe once more. The disciples didn’t expect Jesus to feed the multitudes. And yet, time and time again, God proves that regardless of the depth of our faith, God shows up. Though truthfully, I think God doesn’t ever have to show up, because God is already always everywhere. So it’s less about God arriving, and more about us realizing God’s passing out hors d'oeuvres. God’s actually the host of the party. And the D.J. God handmade each invite, using a template off of Pinterest. God tells good stories. Everyone crowds God, and just when you feel lost in the sea of bodies, you feel God’s arm casually hang over your shoulder. God smiles at you. In the smile, there are words,
“I like that you’re here.”
My God is so Loud. But I try not to criticize Her. She’s a gift.
ma salam,
Aziza