I have a farrago of thoughts in my mind that is often hard to untangle, especially when I'm in front of my family members.
I feel like I'm teetering off the edge in a sea of doubts, an ocean of amused-I'm-not-taking-her-seriously smirks.
The water is always cold, so I run out, half-naked, clutching the remaining clothes that haven't been clung from their stares.
I run for warmer shelter, feeling terrible for running away yet again.
I must unleash my words, they have been nipping at my ankles for the last 5 minutes, a farrago of scampering spectacles, and I can't keep track of them. Until I see a sun patch in the distance.
I tiptoe closer, and ever closer still, sit my bottom down. The sun is wrapping me up in an embrace, just me and Jesus and quiet.
"I tried, Lord," I whisper, tears dripping in my words.
"I tried to tell them."
"I am still here," He responds. He helps me unravel my farrago, my words that pour like pancake batter sizzling on a shiny pan.
I talk and talk with my Lord until the sky turns blue, and purple, and I get up. And I walk slowly home.
Farrago: A confused mixture For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace... 1 Corinthians 4 13