I cannot speak.
Words grapple with emotions, a cauldron of explosives waiting for a spark. Long powerful arms wrap around my chest, suffocating the screams of a distressed heart.
I cannot speak.
Muffled laughter mocks my efforts, the struggle to get out of my head met with failure. Time is relentless, an echoing endless pattern of day and night, summer and winter, months and years. A tunnel with no light at the end, a broken record playing the same notes over and over and over.
I cannot speak.
A box of vipers, Pandora’s treasure of bitterness unopened. They fight for release, and I hesitate. But the Spirit stirs within, reminding me, warning me of long-term repercussions if I give in. The choice hangs overhead: temporary relief, or future blessing. The quarreling serpents bite hard as I replace the lid, their escape denied again. Layers of pain without bruises, a cacophony of words with no voice.
I cannot speak.
Bondage from youth overpowered by freedom in Christ. Intoxicating relief. Liberating joy. How can I go back to that cage of shame when the wings of an eagle have lifted me above it all? And yet, the darkness has returned. My wings clipped. And again, I cannot speak.
I cannot speak.
Yet the daily expectations persist. Motivated to serve those I love; I must not give up. Here is purpose, so I persevere. But with every step, these broken wings hold me back like lead. The labor of surviving. Needle-sharp stings from these vipers as I grip their lid in place. If Jesus has already borne this heavy load – why must I carry it again? Yet here I am.
I cannot speak.
Like Job, my reality is a nightmare I can’t fully understand. Like David, my pillow is wet with tears, and I feel nothing anymore. I cry out to heaven night after night, but the silence is deafening. Demons scream at me relentlessly to curse God and die.
I cannot speak. But God is faithful.
Always slow, but never late. His light finally breaks through as the waves recede in the presence of the Master. A faint yet familiar melody resonates that I am His and He is mine. Doubt gives way to the sweetness that His grace is sufficient for me.
I cannot speak. But God answers.
My prayers still unanswered, but now blessed with comfort. I am not abandoned; I am not forsaken. Like a child too young to articulate, my screaming is silenced by the tender care of my heavenly Father who knows what I need before I ask. Words still refuse to come, but His love quiets my heart.
I cannot speak. But God speaks one word on my behalf.
A word more powerful than pain; a word that subdues the chaos of words and emotions within. A word that encompasses the darkness yet remains bright, immutable. It rises on wings unblemished, healing all it touches. This Word enters my silence. This Word brings order just as He did in the beginning. This Word is Jesus.
I cannot speak. Yet I am speechless.
My silence is not in vain. This darkness is not a wasted. Who is like the Lord who lifts my eyes to the mountains? Who is like the Lord who draws near to the brokenhearted? Who is like Him who saves the crushed in spirit? Though I cannot speak, my head is lifted toward the Lord. It is enough that He understands the chaotic darkness within; I do not bear it alone.
I am speechless.
But I can speak of my Healer, my Light and salvation, my strong tower and Deliverer. His words direct my feet on new paths. My broken wings are strengthened through His abundant compassion.
I can speak again.
Of Jesus. And it is more than enough.
Psalm 42:11
Why are you in despair, O my soul?
And why have you become disturbed within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him,
The help of my countenance and my God.
