no stars or dots

today was junk.

by mid-afternoon, i had come to the very logical conclusion that yes, i am dead on the inside. right before leaving work i opened my email to find one from my mom. she closed the letter with the none-to-subtle, "have you read your bible yet? if not, read psalm 20. it's what i've been praying for all of us today."

okay, mom. but it's hard to read your bible when you're dead on the inside.

on the way home i stop by a favorite cafe and pick up a piece of vegan mocha ganache cake. night of depressive indulgence, (round two), coming right up. before i turn on some meaningless television so i can lose myself in other people's fantasy lives, i pull the little gray bible out of my bag. psalm 20. read it. okay, it's good. i keep going. backwards. psalm 19. i stop and re-read about a dozen times when i hit this part right here:

the law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul. the testimony of the LORD is right, rejoicing the heart; the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes; the fear of the LORD is clean, enduring forever; the rules of the LORD are true, and righteous altogether... by them is your servant warned; in keeping them is great reward. who can discern his errors? declare me innocent from hidden faults. keep back your servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me!

okay, maybe i'm a little less dead. but i still hate my life.

i mope around abit with my ganache and a local brew until i feel full and pour the rest down the drain. my sweet roommate comes home and asks me what is wrong. i start to tell her, and then (completely unlike myself) end up saying that i don't want to talk about it. seriously. i'll just become a sniffling mess. she says okay, gives me a hug, and looks up a ricky martin song that she remembers being good. i say there is no such song. i am right. ricky martin leads to william hung on itunes. we laugh. that's just kind of how we are.

she helps me hang the newly framed poster of my favorite band. karin and linford both look exquisite in this photograph, full of mystery and old-world artsyness. she senses i am still out of it, and says that she knows what i need. we go into her bedroom and she pulls a max lucado children's book from the shelf. she orders me to sit still for a minute and look at the pictures while she reads, so we settle in and learn all about wemmicks. they keep placing silly judgments on each other's value. stars and dots, stars and dots. by the end of the story i understand the moral and maybe also understand what i need just a little bit more.

maybe i'm not dead on the inside. (not yet).

maybe... it's just a little cold in there. i think i need to take some time to sit by the Master in order to thaw out.