What can a writer honestly come up with at 2 a.m.?
The brain is shutting down and my eyes are mere slits of my former alertness. Yet I sit at this keyboard determined to blog. (Yes, Heather, a real post. Aren't ya proud?) What do I write about? What do I have to say? How much longer can I avoid blogging about the heart of the matter?
Journeys are an amazing entity. Whether a character's or our own, they are a vital aspect of truly living. I've come to recognize the necessity of the one I'm currently traversing. That doesn't mean, however, that I see or even understand the big picture. Perhaps the only bonus to the path I'm traveling is I know part of the outcome—a very large part of the outcome. But in the midst of such knowledge is also the understanding that this journey will be arduous, exhausting, frustrating, and down right painful.
Knowing this, do I continue? Do I stay the course? (Okay, you knew I had to put that in there at some point.) Or do I take the easy way out and run the road most traveled?
I didn't choose this path. I was most unceremoniously informed roughly six years ago of what was to come. I've never doubted, always knew this was right. And I mean, really right. But now that the final year is here, what promises to be the most difficult part, I find myself in a quandary. What I've wanted so much—prayed and pleaded for—lay with my grasp, so to speak. Yet I balk at the trial, the walk through fire, that will bring me to the ultimate outcome. The completion.
I've made it this far, and no, this is in no way a consideration of changing course and giving up. I know what's at stake. And those closest to me know as well. There is no turning back.
So I ask you, what would you do to save a soul? What would you sacrifice? And can you honestly answer that without having survived the blaze?
I thought I could, easily. Now I see it's not so simple. I knew the final lap would be hard, but the flames are closer now, and I'm downright scared.
Some would say I have a choice. I say I don't. There's really only one path, and I have to take it. The time is almost here to start that final lap. In the meantime, I persevere, utterly helpless and hanging onto to God for breath, strength, and mercy.
I am the weary traveler.