The one about the face

It’s that look on my friend’s face

I’ve seen it before on other people’s faces

The look that says they’re done with this conversation 

I’m doing it again 

Making it too difficult 

I have an answer for everything 

No, scratch that…I have a question for everything. 

Why can’t I just stop? 

Why can’t I just accept the words being said to me?

Why haven’t I learned yet?

Are these my options?

Suffer in silence or cause others to suffer while I speak?

I drown in my questions. I lay awake at night haunted by them. Screaming in the dark to a silent God. I try to get them out of my mind by speaking them out loud and this is the face I get. 

The “I’m done.” face 

The “Can we talk about something else?” face. 

The “Good grief just stop doing x, y, or z and you’ll be fine.” face 

The “Nothing I’m saying is sinking in so why keep talking?” face 

And I’m not angry. I’m sick of me too. Sick of my inability to just shut up and move on. They say misery loves company and maybe that’s true, but not for me. I keep talking to get the poison out of my own heart and mind, not to infect others. But maybe that’s what I’m doing. Putting questions in people’s minds they’ve never had before. Being part of their own doubts and destruction…being the author of them. I don’t want that. So…what do I want?

The hell if I know 

I want to believe. I want to pray with audacious faith without doubting the character of God. I want to be used by Jesus to change the world in both micro and macro ways. I want to be able to do that without being overwhelmed by the despair that can come when you’re face to face with a broken world. I want to have thick skin but a tender heart. I want to believe.

But most of all I don’t want to see that face. Because here is why I cried after seeing that face. It wasn’t because I thought my friend was sick of me but because deep down I’m afraid that’s the face God is making at me. 

That he’s tired of me. Tired of my doubts. Tired of my questions. Just…tired of me. 

So here I sit. On the bench in a park crying and scribbling in my journal while Philly walks by and actively does not look at me because, hello…crazy person on a bench? No thanks. I sit and I listen. To the music in my headphones. To the voice in my mind. To the voice in my spirit. And I say to the Father “here I am. This is all I have to give you. Today, I choose you not because I think you’re the best, but because the alternative seems so much worse. I’d rather struggle with you than without you. I hope you feel the same way.” 

And then, a text from that same friend. “Listen to this song.” A link included. A song I already know. Different artist. Same song.

I believe in God our Father. I believe in Christ the Son. I believe in the Holy Spirit. Our God is three in one. I believe in the resurrection. That we will rise again. For I believe in the name of Jesus. 



So maybe I misread the face. Maybe I saw my own face on someone else’s. Projected my own insecurities outward. Maybe it’s as simple as this: I believe in the name of Jesus. 

I’m here Jesus. You say that’s all you need from me. You don’t need me all tied up neatly with a bow. No doubts. No anger. No insecurities. You just want me in the same room as you. So here I am. I’m holding on to your name. 

For I believe in the name of Jesus.