the howl of the coyotes

I have a tendency to think God’s love for me is manifested in life being good; thus when it is not (such as now) I am led to question His love and affections for me. It’s stupid, I know… All kinds of things will trigger insecurities towards whether God loves me and cares for me. It can be anything. It used to be Julie. Now it’s Courtney. I see Courtney, see her boyfriend, am reminded of our time together… and it kills. Not only because she was the first true love I’ve ever had (a fact of which I am certain), and that part of me will always love her; but also because the ending of our relationship brought with it the decay of hope. She symbolized, in part, and continues to symbolize, hope. She brought me out of a slum of suicidal depression where I felt all hope had been lost; and now that she has gone, that deliverance has disappeared as well. I find myself where I was last year: hopeless, despairing, falling apart at the seams, empty and lonely. I feel as if I have lost everything, that there is nothing to look forward to: the future seems to be nothing more than an avalanche of pain and suffering covering me year-by-year, till it is unbearable.

The girl I loved has left me and has found herself solace in another boy’s arms.
Nearly all of my friends have abandoned me, and I feel so alone.
God seems to be deaf to my prayers, and his deafness terrifies me.

I took a drive this evening. I took a nap after work, and upon waking, fell into a state of immense dread. I lumbered into the Prizm and drove through the streets of Cincinnati. I prayed. It wasn’t your usual “Dear God, blah, blah, blah”; rather, it summed itself up in a few heated words, broken cries, and tears. I pulled into Mount Echo park and stumbled to the overlook. I gazed upon Ludlow spread out over the Kentucky banks, and I clenched my fists trying to pull myself together. A car parked farther down at the overlook, and a hobbled old man stepped out. Seeing him, I prayed, “God… just let me know you’re there… Let that man come over and just speak a single word to me.” Moments passed by. He went back to his car. I sighed. What did I expect? Another failed answer to prayer. Sirens went off somewhere in Kentucky, and coyotes howled. A moment later I heard footsteps and turned to see the old man hobbling over. He looked at me through beady eyes under a frayed baseball cap: “I wonder what those sirens were all about?” he said. And we talked for about ten minutes. When he left, the pain and suffering didn’t leave with him… but at least now I have a little more hope.