The second you’re gone, where am I again? Falling into my own gravity. Pulled back, square one, two steps back. Into myself, collapsing, imploding, barely standing. Structurally unsound. I live on my knees, head down, hands flat on the floor. Lungs pull hard. World spins. Where am I?
Stand at the edge of the water; your fingers are mine. I feel your strength and believe I am strong. But I am weak and let go. I am heavy and fall deep. Plummeting. Going under. I sink beneath stormy waves and can barely see and the undertow flows through me. In my heart I know there is light at the top of the waves. Touch. You can feel it. It illuminates the dust in the water until the world around me sparkles and glows like a million fireflies in a summer night. But my reaching hand only blocks its shine.
Dark in the deep. Buried six feet deep in cold, heavy sand. I grasp. Gasp. Grope.
Sun at the surface. I’m afraid of what I will find but the light must be where you are. Your words were the only ones I ever wanted to hear and I wrap them around me, holding them close like the last of my breath. You gave them for hope but I found them for peace. My eyes close, but then – your arms around my waist.
Your breath becomes mine. You rob me of myself and you have given me yourself and never, in the depths or deepness, will you let your heart go. I am nothing and everything. I may wither in the daylight but I would wither for so much less. Lord, take me. Jesus. Redeem me. Make me yours. Because now I know that life is warm and bright, and the light above the waves is so much brighter and warmer than the fireflies beneath.