Every day I walk through the streets of my city and lose myself in the sea of humanity that surrounds me. I disengage where I can because it’s overwhelming; the crowds, the noise, the tiredness it brings me. I sit as a member of a crowd and wonder; how many of these people are in pain like me?
My heart is so heavy and so broken with my own personal pain that I can’t help but wonder how many of the people around me are in misery too. How many people put on their faces each day, smile for the world, answer “I’m good thanks!” when asked, how many people are crying in their cars alone in a shopping centre carpark, in the shower, under the covers, because life is just so hard and hurtful right now.
Once upon a time, I had an anchor and I knew it was my safety. I knew that no matter what happened, no matter how many waves would break over my boughs, I would remain. The storms could come and batter me, the wind could howl, the sun could beat down on my back and no matter what happened, my anchor would stay strong and I would last. Now I’m realising somewhere along the way, I lost my anchor.
I am adrift at sea, washed over and over by the waves of misery, pain, injustice, hurt, troubles, worry.
I have lost my anchor.
I have lost my peace.
Do I dare hope for rescue? My heart can’t take any more suffering.
I await destruction on the rocks of the next storm. I welcome it.