Wandering in Fog

Wondering in Fog

(Pre-cursor: This is an older journal entry, approx. 2 1/2 mnths. old.)

I awoke in the woods. Deep brush and thick pine trees suffocated any existing light. A wet, cold, and heavy fog sat casually below the tree tops; a semi0clausterphobic feeling set in. I searched diligently for the light, a way out; I saw no break in the fog, no bright-shining-sun, no exit.

My mind wanders. My heart beats rapidly. How did I get here? I search my immensely-scattered memory for an explanation and all I can remember is that I was chasing someone….something…..for some reason?

The faintest picture fills my mind, its clarity is minimal. I’m fighting to find its purpose, its meaning.

God chased me. He caught me. We all know the game, “Tag.” Apparently I’d been chasing Him when something happened, something put me out, something must have happened. Why else would I wake up dazed in the woods?

When He pursued me He was very intentional. I think He took it easy on me. He allowed me to run a bit, get muddy, and feel as if I “tricked” Him. When loneliness set in like the morning dew He came, tapped me, and gave me a reason to move, to run, a reason to live.

I realized at that point in time that the thrill of life came with the pursuit of Him. He was never out of my reach, I knew that if I touched Him that the chase would be over, and I dreaded that. I didn’t want to wait anymore; I liked it when He was right there in front of me, whenever I needed Him.

The woods were ever-changing. Some days the sky was bright and blue and clear and the beams of light shun through each opening; lighting up the rugged terrain. These days I found it very easy, nothing was hidden, I could follow Him anywhere, their was no where He could go that I couldn’t find Him. Then their were the other times. The rain started early and the sun seemed to never come, the fog was a screen, I could still chase Him, I know He was there, but regardless, I felt alone. He constantly assured me He’d never leave me, He said He was right there, but I couldn’t see Him, the rain, the snow and sleet, the hail, so much noise, crashing lightning and rolling thunder, the deafening ability of nature. Where was His voice? The immensely thick clouds. Where was His hand?

A day would have been okay I guess? A week would have been disheartening and difficult, but bearable. However, six months? I’m still here in the woods, the conditions seemingly unchanged. Yet, for some unexplainable reason things are different. Something has changed drastically. The stumps are still in their broke and moss filled places. The creeks still fun faithfully. The birds still whistle and sing. I am missing something? Six months of this, can I be honest enough here? I faintly remember a voice. The touch of a hand triggers the deepest parts of my being.

I fear the worst. In all of life’s possibilities the most rehabilitating of all feelings begins to creep into my already damp and damaged heart. I think I’m alone?

That once closeness I felt is gone like the sun is, and is as far away as that once mentioned clear blue sky. I sit here, anxiously, semi-non-expectant of a return. The taste I craved has left; I now wonder if I’d ever really tasted anything that sweet before. I wonder if I’d even know if I heard His voice again. Would I know it was Him? Will I ever beat this loneliness? Is this how life was supposed to be lived; actively waiting. Alone?