For context, Switchfoot is an amazing band. 10/10 would recommend. They posted on their twitter earlier today, and something about the simple line and picture (a teaser for their new album coming soon) set me wanting to write. I wanted to answer the unfinished question. Where I interrupt my narrative with a quote or Scripture passage is where they were brought to mind. (I looked them up for accuracy when transcribing.)

"Show me the place where your words come from..." -Switchfoot tweet 10/10/2018

Show me the place you write from. Show me where you compose from. They must come from somewhere. Indeed they do.

Much of my writing of late comes from pain and confusion. It is a working out on paper of the storm of uncertainty and despair in my head. I process things slowly and internally, in the quiet and relative safety of my space.

It was hours after I found out 3 of my friends were involved in a love triangle with two of them now getting divorced because of it that I lashed out at the one the divorcee was leaving for. Begging them to tell me it wasn't true, that there was some misunderstanding, because they were a more honorable person than that. Surely it was the one misplacing blame out of grief and anger. I had not known true insomnia until that night. My brain literally could not stop turning things over and over and over again. It simply did not compute. I have a more realistic, and perhaps more jaded, view of the world now. Even David, the "man after God's own heart", fell to the temptation of a beautiful and forbidden partner. The grass is always greener, and ignorance is indeed bliss. The only anger I hold is with myself for foolishly believing everyone held the same morals as I. I do not care who was or is at fault at this point; I just pray that God continues to work on all those involved for their good. It still hurts my heart sometimes, but I pray for them and remind myself that I cannot control the actions of others. Nor do I want to.

It was months of physical therapy and light gym work before it started to sink in that I wasn't really improving. I'd had surgery in October 2017. I think I recognized the truth subconsciously before my higher thought processes dared acknowledge it. I struggled with finding motivation to do my pt after the first few months. I iced, elevated, took NSAIDs both oral and in topical patches, rubbed arnica gel into skin, used a compression wrap, massaged scar tissue, and any combination of the above I could think of. Then finally I scheduled a follow up visit with my Dr in the summer.

It was a week after my Dr told me my knee pain was here to stay that I finally broke down and despaired. And cried a lot. If I was to live with this much pain, what was there to hope for? I wished for an end, an out, anything. How could this be part of God's plan for me? I've heard of a thorn in the side before, but I've already got a whole thorn bush over here with my ibs, reflux, and growing anxiety. Like a bucket of ice-cold water poured over my head I realized I wasn't opposed to dying (though I still wouldn't actively seek it out). At least then the pain would be gone. That recognition terrified me on a whole new level. I backtracked, tried not to focus on or think about the future where I might have to quit my current line of work-the line of work I've dreamed about since I was a little kid-because of how hard it is on my already abused knee. I dove into anything I could think of to distract myself from the gaping hole in the plan I had for my life.

It took nearly 6 years for me to recognize that I didn't have to put up with the consistent and unrepentant gaslighting and verbal abuse at my current job. Perhaps it was the doubt I have for my future or the constant overtime taxing my now very limited physical endurance or some confidence gained from true friends I've made in the last year and a half, but it suddenly clicked that this isn't worth it. So the gaping hole presents itself once more, stark and daunting and far closer than I first thought.

"This is the hole where most of your soul comes ripping out from the places you've been torn." (Switchfoot "Always")

What will you do? Where will you go? What will you be? I do not know. Why have I not written in months? Because I wrote those same questions into my characters. They're an integral part of the story, as they are a part of me. And I do not have an answer for them yet. So I sit, strangled for words to express the tangle of thoughts, possible scenarios, and unanswered questions that make up me and my creative work at present.

I know God has a plan for me, but I haven't talked to Him in a long time. I'm damaged goods; I've made mistakes. What use could He have for me?

"God has chosen the world's foolish things to shame the wise, and God has chosen the world's weak things to shame the strong. God has chosen the world's insignificant and despised things-the things viewed as nothing-so He might bring to nothing the things that are viewed as something." (1 Cor. 1:27-28)

Well, I've been foolish; I am weak; I just questioned my own worth. Hehe. Sounds like I'm in a perfect place for God to do something with me. If this were a story, the real adventure would be about to begin. That's really not as comforting as it should be to a writer. Ha. Okay, God. I give. What have you got? It's not like I have much left to lose or any real plans to go on. I'm 3 days into my week-long vacation, and my knee hurts just as much now as it did when I finished my work shift on Saturday, and I've only picked up the 1 application from another clinic. Because some part of me thinks I might just be ruined for the field altogether by this knee thing.

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you, not to harm you, to give you hope and a future. You will call to Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.'" (Jeremiah 29:11-14)

It is funny how people always forget the verses that come right after 11. 11 is so popular for graduations and encouragements. It's been a mixed bag for me lately. Some days I dare to hope that there's a purpose and a plan. Others I just can't. Hoping is too risky and thinking of the future too painful, and that verse leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. Lord, I would kneel, but the pain would distract more than the posture would compose me. Please help me with my bitterness. Please be my hope when I do not have the strength to. Please be my strength in my ever-present weakness. If you would use a fool, then may I be a fool for You. If You who make the smallest of seeds grow into a giant among garden plants have an interest in me, go ahead. I do not know what I may grow into. Whether it be a giant tree to be of service to many or a henbit flower to draw a smile from a single child, I don't care. May it be enough.

"Hallelujah! I'm caving in... And I am always yours." (Switchfoot "Always")