8:22

I edged along the abyss,

where even Death seemed generous.

I spoke to lifeless clouds,

conversation after conversation,

no response.

The sun still rose along my usual path,

right on schedule.

Butterflies fluttered their color through the bushes,

birds rehearsed their morning hymns,

snouted turtles lifted from the creeks to watch me pass by —

and still, I could feel nothing.

Even beauty had become a ghost.

Like the ancient King.

A plagued Nebuchadnezzar,

I wandered my own wilderness,

mind split open,

reason gone feral.

I grew claws in my sleep,

crawled through days like a beast,

forgot the sound of mercy

or the sense of light.

Most days spent on the floor.

Every ounce of purpose

had drained from me,

and madness made its nest in my chest.

Then—

at the edge of the last thread,

I unraveled.

Sobbing, trembling,

publicly unashamed.

“Oh Lord,” I cried,

“if You don’t answer,

the dawn will not find me.

Not in symbols or songs.

Light this bush on fire!” I begged.

And then,

in the stillness after my plea,

I looked down.

My phone glowed with a verse

I hadn’t touched,

Isaiah 41:10,

open like a door at 8:22 a.m.

You spoke

and I knew it was You.

No thunder, or angel to deliver the letter

just the breath of Your words,

raising every hair on my body:

“Fear not,

for I am your God.

I will strengthen you.

I will help you.

I will uphold you.”

And for the first time in months,

I inhaled without wanting to disappear.

The air was holy again,

and I—

I found my pulse, for a quick second.

I was still alive.