Yesterday I realized when my internal dialogue is confused and jumbled, it’s impossible for me to write anything here. I can’t string my thoughts together into a narrative that makes sense to me, so doing that with words? Not happening.
My mind is a bumper car track of this:
Brad is suffering.
God loves us.
Brad’s knee is so swollen it won’t bend.
God is compassionate.
But Brad is really sick.
There is a point and purpose.
Even this will become beautiful.
Words. Words. Words.
Please don’t think I’m spending all my moments really sad. I’m sad, but I’m not hopeless. I just don’t understand it all just yet. I’m not sure why, but something tells me it’s valuable to come here and say that at least as often as I come here to say I’ve figured something out.