Faith · God · grief · Life · Religion · Words

In the quiet

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I sat in that cold, bare room waiting for answers. I sought out comfort as I looked around but all that I saw were pale yellow walls and old magazine covers. No cheery pictures hung to lift my spirits. No pretty decorations adorned the counters. Just a burgundy colored chair, a metal sink and the doctors tattered stool. In the silence I sat and waited. 

I could feel my heart beating against my ribs as I anticipated that knock at the door. That sound that would either signal the beginning of a difficult journey or a relief of sorts.

I prayed to God that he would be present with me in this scary moment because I felt so alone and lost. I asked him to give me strength and hope. I wanted so badly for my life to stay the same so that I could go home and start living the way that He intended me to. I made promises to myself and asked him for more chances. 

My hands clasped together I looked down at the white, marred floor, my brown boots dangling just above them, and bowed my head uncertain of everything, except for the fact that He is here, unseen and unheard but felt. He is always here, especially in dark moments like this, when He is needed the most.  

In the quiet I sit, prayer my only relief.

After what seems like hours, the knock sounds and the door is quickly opened to the doctor’s smiling face and I exhale that sharp force of breathe that I’d been holding because I somehow know that I’m going to be okay….no matter what. I’m going to be okay.

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