The Shadows

The shadows
The shadows move in when the hands move back, signaling the end of warm summer days.
We age.
The days stretch long, run together.
I miss my life. It has been a long time.
I try not to feel sad.
Each day is a marathon and I just try to keep my hands, my mind busy.
Waiting to see what comes.
Because I don’t have much light
To see by anymore.
The road to here has been difficult for us. But here we are. Wherever this is.
And I don’t think anything about Earth life is like God wanted for us.
I seek Your ways and will. But there is too much of self that I can’t seem to shed.
Family-raising time is done now. I don’t know what I am here for. I don’t think I am pleasing You, or myself, or anyone else.
I have felt so limited, for so long, that I feel I am no longer generous. I don’t have that desire to make someone else’s life better or to expend anything on behalf of others. I know I feel empty, but I feel very stingy. Yet I could not possibly apologize for it sincerely, because it is authentic.
I despaired of making it this far. I wish I knew how to bear up better under what life throws my way.
Mostly, anymore, I just want for nobody to expect anything of me, because even if I want to give, I can never seem to sustain it for long.
Don’t count on me. Don’t include me. Just do your life and let me stay here, finally in this comfortable spot. Because I haven’t gotten to be comfortable much in life.
So often, I was where someone else wanted me. Doing what someone else wanted, and trying to be what someone else had come to expect because once you start, you are going to disappoint somebody when you stop.
 I went out on a lot of limbs already. I went out of my way, multitudes of times. I desire to finish well, but it is not looking good.
I used to be content in my own skin. Now, I settle for it. I miss when I had a body that felt whole.  It simply quit doing what I needed it to do. But I must stay thankful. I know I still have so much to be thankful for, and I am, but I miss what I had, too, you know?
I am “content” most of the time, but it is not a fulfilled contentment. It is a contentment that my old self disdains for it’s insufficiency.
Some people are so generous. They give freely of themselves. They want to share the things that bring them joy. I used to be that way. I don’t really know when that stopped being the case. Over time, it was drained.
If I discover something good, these days, I want to keep it for myself. Usually, there isn’t anyone else that gets excited about things that excite me, anyway, but joy is designed to be contagious. I don’t catch joy from others these days either, though.
I tried to sell some of the things I made. No one wants them except for pennies. I can’t make my hands do the delicate, essential details that differentiate a work as finished, professional. I want someone to appreciate the hours, the effort, the determination, the pain that are involved. But that is not what they are looking at or paying for.
If they like it, they might consider paying a buck or two, but they won’t care anymore once they have it. It means nothing. Getting is the point, not the having, just the getting. Do you see the difference? But they still want the better one.
I read a book a couple of days ago, about a lady who lived in the slums, on the streets of Brazil as a child, with her schizophrenic mother. The mother took her to an orphanage, because she thought it was a school. She did not understand it was an orphanage. They would not give her daughter back and she ended up being adopted by a wealthy Swedish couple. She had everything she could want, and the best education. But she never forgot her real mom who loved her very much. In her 30’s, long after losing her adopted mom at 14, the woman returned to Brazil to search for her mother. She is reunited and meets other family she never knew she had. They still live in the slums, but not on the street. They are so happy and willing to share from what little they have, in spite of their poverty. And it is not lost on her. She remembers happiness from those days, despite the hunger and dangers.
I want to be truly content. It is not my circumstances that need to be changed. It is my heart, my perspective, my thoughts.
Lord, I am sorry for being ungrateful, unkind, unloving, self absorbed. Show me how to be better again. So much of the hard stuff is past, but I have not recovered. Can I have a generous spirit again? Can love and genuine concern for others be restored?
I am weary. I have waited so long for heaven. I am heartsick to know what this world has turned into. I hate it here. I hate what our boys have lost that they should have had preserved for them. But there is no getting it back.
I want to be delivered and for them to be delivered, for all of Your people to escape this cesspool.
Please, Lord. How much longer? Please come for us very soon. It is awful down here. There is nothing good here anymore. Nothing here to desire. But You know the hour. There is still work to be done. We may not do it with quite the vigor, but we have to finish the race.
We have all missed the mark of the high calling. No one is good. But some of us really and truly want to be good. We hate the evil and we want with all our hearts to see you crush it.
It has been a long darkness already. The things happening are horrific, and we don’t want to stay to see how much worse it is going to get.
Come quickly! Come very, very soon!
S.T.Lloyd

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