Cups.

EDIT: I wrote this after reading Psalm 23. It is meant to be about grace and forgiveness. About being thankful that no matter how dark the day that you can cry out "Oh Lord!" and have your cup filled by the grace of God.


"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over." Psalm 23:5

I am tired. But weary is a better word.
Weary of people being less than they should.
Weary from disappointment.
Tired of feeling ashamed.
Of who I am.Of who I am not.
Of who I don't choose to love.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.

I am sad. But solemn is a better word.
Solemn because of cold sheets after long days.
Solemn from loneliness.
Sad because of love.
Of what I feel. Of what I can't feel.
Of what goes unreturned.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.

I am sick. But weakness is a better word.
Weak from problems that never seem to cease.
Weak from my flesh.
Sick from no forgiveness.
Of who I can't. Of who I won't.
Of who I hate for ruining my life.
My cup here is empty and I have nothing left to give.

:

I have nothing left to give but an empty cup.
And weary, solemn weakness.
Oh Psalm of David, what were your words?
I know of your sins and your forgiveness.
What do you think of them now?

Words.

Sometimes, words come so easily to me. And others, as anyone who was present at Allison Curbow's bachelorette party toast fiasco already knows, sometimes-they don't. But either way when I am happy I can type up page long dissertations in seconds no matter whether the subject is good, bad, or even particularly interesting. But when I am discontent its as if my fingers don't understand the language and I will stare at a blinking, vertical cursor forever and nothing comes. Eventually I give up and move on to some sort of monotony that might comfort my thoughts.

It is a weird sort of shut down mechanism; whenever the world is too much for me I can't put anything into words. I can't write about sadness. Like I am some sort of literary sociopath. I can feel it. So deeply. But to lose someone you thought you knew. I don't know how to write about that. To want someone in your life so much and not be able to have them like you want. I don't know how to write about that. Feeling lost and stuck and hurting...I can't write about that.

But what I can write about, constantly, is that when I come out of my bouts of frustration, sadness, infuriation, etc that I come out knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that life is nothing you expect and everything that's beautiful.

Someone told me recently that it is hard to be friends with me because I don't believe in myself. That I am demanding. That I think everything is about me. And after a lot of thought, I am glad this person said this. Not because I had a sudden epiphany about what a bad friend and shoddy person I had become but because I know in my heart that I would give everything to someone who needed it more than me and have, even though it has sometimes meant that I went without. I make deliberate choices. I think about things (sometimes too much). I make responsible choices. I always try not to say things I don't mean. I am willing to do the right thing even if it isn't easy. I tell people the truth even when my ideas are unwelcome.

And like me, hate me, or have no feelings one way or the other...just know that if you ask, I will open my heart; and that's what I write about. Because underneath even the bad days, love is all I know.

Sara