Analytical

There’s a girl at work named Omega. She looks me in the eyes when I talk to her. She will smile and answer my questions or add to my comments. I know nothing about her and she knows nothing about me. I could count on two hands the times I’ve worked the same shift with her and she’s been there almost five months. But she will talk to me like we’re old friends, like we went to school together, or live across the street from each other.

There’s a guy at church named Richard. He never spoke to me until I shook his hand for the first time one day at youth band practice. But he looked at me and repeated something I said once at youth that he really connected to. In that moment of which he spoke, we clicked and I hadn’t even met him. But it’s like we see eye to eye. Like I joined his club instantly, and he could open up. He has shared personal things with me. I can count on one hand the number of conversations we’ve had, but he’s like a relative or a brother. Like an old friend.

There was a woman at Sonic who I served a coney with chili and onions to today. She smiled at me—really smiled—when she handed me her money. I smiled back, wondering what was so different. I asked her if she needed anything extra and she asked for ketchup. I gave it to her from my apron and told her to have a great day, really meaning it deep inside. As I took another order out, she caught me and asked for another fork and a few napkins. I couldn’t resist. When I returned, she smiled at me again the same way. I can remember her face so vivid. She was so friendly, quiet, and real. She treated me like a son or a nephew.

There’s an older man at church who shakes my hand and gives me a hug every Sunday. He knows my name, but I don’t know his. I think I remember seeing his face when the men all went to TBI this past fall. He walked beside me as we all filed around the auditorium praying for each other. This man congratulated me this morning, hearing I had received a 4.0 on my finals last semester. He said he read it in the paper. It shocked me that he was thinking about me and probably had prayed for me that night at TBI, and I’ve never asked him his name.

A few minutes ago I looked at myself and realized I live around heroes and I never knew it. A few minutes ago I thought about how much I wanted a soda, but my mom never buys enough. I also thought about what Hannah really thinks of me. I thought about Dad’s job, and his office on base that I’ve never been to. I thought about Grandpa Mack alone in his motor home, ready to go to work tomorrow. I thought about how I probably won’t be able to get my car started in the morning because of the ice, and how other kids are driving around 2006 Maximas and 2007 Versas.

I can’t do it. I can’t be real and mean things. I can’t even thank God the right way. Even though some people say I can. Some people believe I can. Some people cheer me on. Some people believe in what I’m doing. Some people believe in what I want to do. Right now I can’t seem to. But we have to believe in something if we want to overcome. Today I felt like a radio antenna—receiving signals of reality. Who my little brother is. What my little sister laughs at. That my Granny drove six and a half hours to come see us, giving us the excuse that Mom is selling on eBay for her. That my bosses’ marriages are failing and another manager gets high a lot.

I got reality today because I woke up and forgot that I was here, and started to see that everyone else was. I lost the reality by sleeping it off this afternoon, so that I could be “comfortable” with the rest of the day. I just realized I may never see reality again like I did today, and I went and slept it off. I sold out. I knew what I had and I flushed it away for some pleasure. I can only hope the reversal will help me to get that reality back. The clearness in the air I breathed, the air around me so close and real, so clear and glowing and golden and slow.

Jesus has done too much for me. He must want me bad. I feel so filthy. And now He’s read everything I just typed out, I hope he’ll accept my confession and my desire to repent. I’ll go to Him personally in a few minutes.