Yesterday stretched me thin, only to be punctured with a--
(This was October 5th. I didn't get a chance to finish it any time since then, because the internet's out at my house, and it's so hard to fit time to commit thoughts from mind to paper to the open journal of the internet. And this time I didn't write on paper, so I ain't guaranteeing this will be pretty. But neither was that night, so...)
--terse buzz of a phone call as I shifted the car into reverse. Grumbling, I rifled through my backpack and found out my phone. I normally obey the law, but it was getting late at night, and I took the call while driving slowly out of the parking lot, wary of Irvine's vigilant police. It seems strange to me (unnatural, even), whenever I'm the one looking out for the cops. It isn't a good thing to be breaking the letter of the law, especially when you know you won't get caught.
"Hello?"
"Joseph? Come home now. We need to talk."
"All....right." For some reason, I had this unshakable feeling of foreboding punishment. But what had I done wrong? I drove home in silence, the songs stolen from my tongue.
(...Did I not rise early, Father, to praise Your name with song and prayer? Did I not meditate on Your words day and night?...)
The miles stretched thin, and my heart broke on the doorstep when I saw that frown. I was caught red-handed, smeared with the blood of the lambs I tended.
(...I'm not guilty! I did what is right! My sleep, my health, my mind, my body, my time--are they not worth more than any of these?...)
"You've passed the line. If this becomes typical, I don't want you to continue going there. I worry about you..."
Yet I knew there was nothing I could do to make things right that night. So I prayed for sleep, that I would be able to try again to honor my Father and mother.
Never underestimate my Jesus. When the world around you crumbles, He will be strong.
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