Self made tombs

Good morning.

Sunshine? No.
Clouds? Decidedly yes.
Rain? In the foreseeable future.

In Hollywood it’s sunny. Well, either that or the air is filled with big fluffy white snowflakes, perfect for settling on some cute girl’s eyelashes. I’ll allow for some rain, as long as it’s torrential rain that makes for a romantic moment. But next thing, we’re back on with bright, warm sunshine.

I live here. I live in a world where mosquitoes and wasps exist. I live in a world that comes with an 18 certificate. I live in a world where hospital dramas are real, not scripted, cleaned up and wrapped in nice box sets.
A world that does have sunshine sometimes. A world with laughter. A world with daisies and roses. A world with a million books waiting to be read.

Yet I find myself looking at the bad. I find myself building my own tomb. A tomb of bad memories and fear of ones yet to be made. And I look out at the sunshine and the laughter, the daisies and the books from within my self made tomb. And as I do so I watch the death of my life. As I shut out the good and find it easier to focus on the bad, the spark dies.

And so I call out. Is anyone there who can help? I don’t want to be here. I want to be there, out in the sunshine, laughing with my family and friends.

And then I see it. At first it’s just a shadow but as my eyes strain to see it more, as I want it more, the outline of a figure becomes clearer. He walks nearer, rolls the stone of my carefully constructed tomb away, takes my hand and leads me into the sun. And as long as He’s holding my hand, I can’t go back. Sure, I’ll try to. Sunlight makes me blink and shows me cobwebs. But the more I look at Him, the tighter my grip becomes. That’s how I want it to be.