I cannot find words easily these days. Grief of losing both my parents is certainly a contributing factor, but it’s more than that. The world seems to have gone mad. Mean even. Ugliness is everywhere. I don’t do well with intentional spitefulness. My heart shrinks back. I was taught if you don’t have something nice to say, say nothing at all. And maybe that southern lesson is at the core of my loss for words. I have nothing nice to say…only a whirlwind of feelings. This week seemed especially difficult.

My gut is nauseous much of the time, and it has nothing to do with my digestion. My nerves live in my stomach. It has always been that way. Before a doctor’s appointment, a performance, a speech, any kind of big event my stomach feels queasy. And so, now every day is a queasy one, because every day brings new unrest to my soul. Turmoil. Churning. All of it hides itself in my gut.

My sleep is not going so well either. My mind races. My dreams are filled with war and battle. I wake with a feeling of resignation. The path is set. I am merely being dragged along. No way to avoid what is coming. No way out. The feeling of helplessness is overwhelming. And disbelief. Questioning can I really be seeing what I am seeing. Is this even real? Or is it truly a waking nightmare?

History repeating itself. History I have studied. I live in the present…yet it feels like the past. Now I see. Powers beyond myself are in play. I can only bear witness. So many witnesses to history, who lived to tell the tale, who lived to give testimony. And of course, those who didn’t. Am I one? What if I am? Will time give me words of courage to speak when needed? Will I shrink back?

The heaviness is stifling. The cloak suffocates and steals my breath away. Anxiety swells in my throat, preventing action of any kind. To speak is a risk. To act is a danger. Yet, to sit is a crime. It feels as if there is no place for those who believe in nice words. Like the world is bigger than kindness. It is so unfamiliar to me, this raw uncaring place. I am in a foreign land even though I haven’t moved. I am out of sorts and feel lost in my own country. It is culture shock.

Culture shock is a real thing. When you go overseas and cannot navigate your way due to language barriers, unknown customs, and unfamiliar geographical locations it is intimidating. Coming home, where you know the lay of the land is always a comforting thing. However, now, I feel culture shock in my own country. I do not know the language that is being spoken around me. I am unfamiliar with the new customs that are springing up which are the opposite of how I was raised. It causes me grief to have lost my old familiar world. Grief on top of my grief.

I feel powerless to stop it. What words do I have that can cause sanity to return? Any attempt to speak only brings accusation and vitriol. I don’t know a way to change that. Powerlessness leads to hopelessness, and that can be a dangerous place. If not for my faith I would be lost, but even God seems to be waiting and watching. Letting us play out our spats. My only consolation is on my knees. Praying for the humility to seek God’s voice. Face to the ground. Making myself small. Letting his song cover me. Letting his spirit comfort me. Somehow, finding his peace as the storm continues to blow around me.