I looked over at the clock on my nightstand. “1:13 a.m.,” it said.
I tossed and turned. After what seemed like an hour or more, I looked at it again.
Yet another sleepless night in a string of four (or was it more?), a symptom of the turmoil I had faced over the last few weeks.
My mind drifted. I started thinking about how to change things. What could I do to end this misery? Certainly, there had to be something. What was I missing?
Dear God, help me.
Speaking of God, where is he? It seemed he was everywhere but where I needed him most. It’s as though he was on the other side of the world. Why doesn't he talk to me anymore? Sometimes, I wonder if I ever heard him at all.
Was this my fault? I wasn’t sure, but it had to be something I did, or shouldn’t have done. The loneliness was proof.
You don’t have faith.
What is faith, anyway? Is it just waiting, hoping against hope that things will get better? Is it believing that everything is going to be alright—suddenly—as if nothing had ever happened?
What time is it now?
“1:53 a.m.,” the clock said. I could almost hear it laughing.
It was going to be a long night.