Drowning

I feel like I’m drowning.

I know I’m a drama queen, but I don’t see any point in lying about how I feel on Nine to Phive. Especially when hardly anyone reads this blog since I’ve gotten so lax about updating it. No one will be fooled, if you know what I mean.

A Muse performance at ELEV8 conference this year. I thought it was sufficiently depressing.

Maybe it’s because I now have an IC flareup for two weeks out of the month. Every month.

Maybe it’s because I’m scared to death that I won’t be able to keep a full-time job, let alone a job in the highly impractical field that I love.

Maybe it’s because I’ve had to take a 19-credit load this semester just to graduate on time (barely). Oh, and those extra credits? They cost me $800 of over-enrollment fees.

Maybe it’s because two of Muse’s biggest performances of the semester are over and I don’t feel relieved. No less busy. No less stressed. No less out of breath.

Maybe it’s because, after two and a half years of marriage, I feel like I should have worked out so many of the selfish struggles that my newlywed friends seem to have no problem with after just a few months.

Maybe it’s because I feel guilty turning to my family for support when they’re struggling just as much as me right now.

Maybe it’s because I love God, love my church, and love my brothers and sisters in Christ, but can’t find the time or energy to invest in my personal spiritual life.

Maybe it’s because I want more than anything to write freely–stories, poetry, journals, grocery lists, bucket lists, this blog–and I can’t even find time to do my required writing for class.

Maybe this is my life now.

Struggling.
Fighting.
Keeping my head above water. 

 Drowning.

I thought graduating this spring would feel like a weight being lifted, but as I approach commencement with all of this and more baggage (some of which won’t disappear the moment I walk across that stage), I feel as though it’s just a doorway into different and heavier weights pressing down on me.

Pressing down on my lungs . . . 
On my heart . . . 
On my spirit . . . 
I’m broken . . .

Drowning . . .

Oh, and a drama queen. There’s that, too.

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Muse Creative Arts Ministry Presents "The Chains"

I kind of helped my graphic design/film/broadcasting/ dancer friend Aubrey with this design. He did all of the cool stuff. I did the boxes and text.

And if you are anywhere near Rochester, you should come tomorrow!

Let My People Go: A Poem from "The Chains"


Muse Creative Arts Ministry is in the thick of rehearsals for our first-ever show, “The Chains.” We’ve created a synthesis of poetry, drama, dance, and music that really blows the mind in terms of just how much unseen bondage there is in the typical human experience.

I’m so proud of what we’ve made together. I wanted to give you guys a preview of all of our hard work. 

This particular piece is by yours truly, and it will be concluding “The Chains” on the nights of November 28th and 29th.

Let My People Go

My people are in chains.

They grovel in prisons that look like homes

Dungeons that look like farms and plantations


And jail cells that look like souls.


Everywhere I turn, I see the ice-cold links dripping from their limbs.

I hear the solemn, rhythmic clang of metal against floors and flesh


The frantic shouts of child soldiers forced into the fray of battle

The midnight sobs of women caged to provide pleasure for a price


The muffled heaving of bulimics behind closed bathroom doors


The breaking backs of boys who will never escape their country’s caste system


The cursings of widowed fathers who swear they will never love again


The silence of wives loyally suffering at the hands of their husbands’ rage


The strangled wails of depression

The stifled screams of hatred

The grinding grip of a crippling grudge


The judgmental stares from you who have never known anything but freedom


I follow the chain gang to work


To school


To church


Slaves, one and all


Enslaved by others like them

Enslaved by darkness itself


Or enslaved by themselves, blind to their self-imposed oppression


But the chains are always the same.


The chains . . .


They dig into our wrists and ankles


Into our hearts and minds


I . . . I am in chains.


I watch my people suffer as I waste away on my own

Alone in the company of a million more captives.


I reach out to ease their suffering

And fall back on my own weight

Snapped to a stop by chains around my neck


My arms


My legs


My spirit


My people are in chains.


If You won’t show me how, I beg You


Show Yourself to me, and let my people go.

Check out our event on Facebook!