Archives For waiting


randomlychad  —  May 19, 2012 — 3 Comments

Tiredness is a pressure behind my eyes, fatigue a constant companion.

Coffee–once maligned–now measured: not in cups, but pints.

I’m waiting, Lord, for the faith to become sight.

I’m tired.

When the words won’t come…

I wait

When inspiration fails…

I trust

When sheer busyness bogs me down…

I rest

When the words won’t come…

You are there, arms open wide…

Beckoning me

You are all, and the words fail, and fall

From silent lips, hushed in awe:

You hear my heart, and say:

“Rest, My child, no words today from your lips are needed…

I hear your heart, and will fill that empty place.”

To which I say:

“When the words won’t come…

You are Enough”

Waiting to See

randomlychad  —  June 7, 2011 — 2 Comments

>Waiting Safetyphoto © 2008 Patrick Emerson | more info (via: Wylio)

I am looking forward to that time when the faith shall be sight, when the mortal shall take on immortality. It’s not some kind of perverse death wish, but rather a desire to be whole.

You see, for several years I’ve had sleep apnea. I had hoped that by losing weight this year it would improve; it hasn’t. I stumble from bed bleary-eyed and tired everyday. Added to this is hypothyroidism–which I’m having checked out today.

Don’t get me wrong: I have a good life, great kids, a wonderful wife, but my body is just so tired all the freaking time! It gets old, you know? And I’m not even (that) old–though my age at the end of this month will match the late Douglas Adams’s answer for life, the universe, and everything.

I feel naked, exposed, sharing this with you, but there you have it (and my purpose for sharing): will you please pray for me? Pray that we can these health issues worked out, that I can sleep well at night, that I can keep doing my thing here on the blog.

Thanks so much!

May I pray for you? Please share your requests in the comments.

>3D scanner calibration sheet or alien Morse Code?photo © 2008 Quinn Dombrowski | more info (via: Wylio)

I don’t know who I am,

or what I believe

’til I see written words

in front of me

I flounder, until

the work sets me free

To find me

Who I am is a mystery,

Finding myself but randomly

In the dashes upon a page:

Reinventing me, daily