Missing the Font

I sit here tonight with about a thousand things racing about my head. I have rats tearing flesh from bone and worms devouring the scraps. The echos of this carnage bounce around my skull with cavernous abandon, while i attempt to make sense of it all. The raging thoughts inside are leaving me out.

I find myself sitting in the parking lot of Our Lady of Perpetual Recreation and yet, can find no courage to enter. No candle will be lit and my bemedaled ladder Rosary will see no daylight today. I simply admire the facade. I can't afford myself enough grace to enter the house. If my peace lie in thee, I'm on the outside and shall not know.

The sins of the father are nothing more than a road map. The repetition of history cast along another generation. Will the son walk this same highway and if so will they all or just one? I ache for them. I hope for them. I pray for them. Will they find grace in all things or will they be chained by the sins of the father in all aspects of their life? I burn for them. I give myself freely that they might never bear the yoke or feel the lash. All i am is for them and still I'm merely looking in.

Nearly all of my life i have been blessed with a tremendous font. Dipping my tired fingers every chance i got. I have now returned to that font to find only promises and dust. There is no font. What i had grown so accustomed to is gone and shall never return. One day i am sure i will catch up with my font and by then the rats in my skull will all be dead. It is my earnest wish that the sons have a font that doesn't disappear, but when it does they have the courage to be on the inside.

Looking in is not life, but it isn't death either. It is an earthly purgatory, one to be endured until you can rise up and open the door.

This is the last blog i am going to share on FB. I hope you got something from it, even if it is only that bemedaled isn't a real word. Besides, it's mine, so it is a real word. Bemedaled, having medals, usu. several.

Y'all take care of Y'all, Dave