You are there.

I don’t like to be alone much. It makes me think. It makes me feel.

I don’t like the quiet because it makes me feel alone.

It’s quiet and I’m alone but only in a metaphorical sense. It’s midnight but Miranda is reading just a few yards away, the fluorescent glow of her iPhone reflecting off our yellow walls.

I just finished reading in the Gospel of Matthew. I closed the Book, shut the light off for the night.

I can’t shut off my mind.

I’m thinking about the white washed tombs that Jesus talked about.

I’m thinking about all of the dead things inside of me. It feels like they’re living a lot of times.

How can something be dead and yet feel so alive?

Possess some sort of life? Maintain some measure of power?

I want to make a list of everyone that I know who is a Pharisee. I want to succumb to the idea that they are the problem with the church in America. I want to write their name on a list of those to blame for the defamation of Jesus’ name. But I can’t put the pen to the paper of my mind.

I am plagued by this idea, haunted by this thought:

It is me.

I’ve spent the last year casting blame in each direction, blaming the gossip and the liar and the Pastor and the parishioner. I’ve spent the last year with my eyes wide-open to the hypocrisy of those around me and yet completely blind to my own.

I have a beam in my eye. I can’t see clearly.

I’ve spent the last year leading, limping along and hoping that no one would notice. That no one would find me out. That no one would run and tell. That no one would banish me to the fringes, to be alone with myself.

Anything but that.

I don’t think I’m alone in my distain for solidarity. It’s a fear of many. Fear that their loved ones will leave them- physically, emotionally. Fear of rejection. I live in fear of alone.

They say that it is in that aloneness that God speaks. That it is in that quiet where the groanings of our souls are realized.

But I am afraid of quiet because it is rarely there that I hear God. The quiet is where my sins whisper and my desires chafe against my heart, rubbing it raw. The still night is when my doubts come creeping closer and my fear comes to rattle my bedposts.

But late on this night, as my veins pump fear, my soul cries Truth:

“Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,’ even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.” –Psalm 139:7-11

His perfect love casting out my fear. His peace guarding my heart. His light casting out my darkness. His love covering my sin. His hand hemming me in, behind and before.

Even there. Even here. You are there- holding me, leading me.

{You are there.}

© January 29, 2013, Alyssa Bell.

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