There's a hole in the base of my fingernail.  It started peeling and as disgusting as it was, I couldn't just leave it so now it is deep and there. 

I'm googling nail peeling and stomach pains and patchy skin, I'm sure I'll find out that I have some kind of horrible nothing.  But part of me is clinging to these physical issues.  At least I can see them.  And feel them.  They make me feel less crazy.

I just taught my kids how to slide down the stairs on their tummies.  They've been racing for ten minutes, completely enchanted with the game.  This is why I love children.  They get life.

My parents sat me down.  They're worried about me I suppose.  I sat there and listened and then I got in my car and turned the music up to hurting loud volume.  Banging my head against the seat whenever tears got close.  The next day I grabbed my journal, my Bible, and sat.  I thought it had been ten minutes but my watch told me different, I was late to my dinner and I hadn't even started with Him.

I'm almost done with Isaiah, but really I'm not.  I'm sad to say goodbye to it so I may start again.

I'm in chapters of restoration, of the Day of the Lord.

My parents told me that I look empty.  That I'm walking around and something is missing.  Tasha, most people don't live life with any passion, but you always have.  And we don't see it anymore.  You have one good minute in the day but the rest is all down down down.  You need to talk.  You're so quiet.

Quiet surprised me.  Quiet?  It is so loud in my head that I have forgotten that word.  I am surprised to hear you say it, completely surprised. 

Yesterday Isaiah promised Israel that even though God seems silent, even though they moved far away from Him and were lost in the darkness, that one day their hearts would swell and throb with joy.  That one day they would be radiant again.

I read those verses sitting in a back row before church began.  While the worship team was tuning and practicing and warming and I knew that He was with me.  Then I read the part about binding up the brokenhearted.  Releasing captives from darkness.  Repairing the Streets, Restoring the places of Dwelling. 

And I felt a spark.  It's still there.

That's what I've always been so mad for.  Crazy for.

I went to a dinner that my high school put on.  They praised their programs, cheered on the discipleship, the leaders that they are developing.  And I thought about my class, about the people my age, my brother's age, my sister's. 

We've all taken some hard hits.  Fallen further than we realize.  There's a disconnect somewhere, something that we aren't talking about.

And it's destroying us.

I wanted to get up there and talk to only them.  The kids trying to make it.  I wanted to say, look.  Life isn't always beautiful.  We aren't always holy.  And we're all filthy sinners.  You're going to have days when you make it and days when you don't. 

Parents and teachers and friends, they all tell us that we're going to be great.  They tell us about the good things He has for us.  About character and success.

But we need to learn about the dark days too.  We need to be told about the ugly parts, about how to make it through. 

About the completely inadequate days.  The run away, lay down and sleep days.  How to handle love and passion and anger. 

If I didn't have dark times, I wouldn't have light ones.  And to take the darkness away is to steal away my light.  If I can't handle the dark, then I don't know truth like I should.  Then my understanding of the Gospel is so so small.

And that is something worth being bothered about.