Trying to Hold On

I think of myself as a little girl beside Jesus, holding His hand and listening to all He has to say.

But sometimes, out of nowhere, I start to wonder if His hands hurt from holding me. Like He’s doing too much of the work. And so I loosen my grip, just a little.

Then I panic.

I reach back quickly, trying to hold on tighter this time. Trying to silence every ridiculous thought. And for a moment, I do. I hold on firmer.

But then, just as suddenly, I pull my hand away completely and clutch it to myself.

And I stay there.

I drown in myself and hate myself for letting go.

Because it feels harder now. To come back and hold on again. I feel embarrassed, in fact. How do I explain that I can burn and yearn for Him so loudly one moment, and then question where I stand with Him the next?

How do I explain that?

I think it would be easier to hold His hand if the world was quieter.

But it isn’t.

I’m tired. Mostly because of my country, Nigeria. I wake up and it’s one sad news after another. None of it makes sense. The government, the people, the structure. It all feels broken in ways I don’t even know how to articulate.

And it’s constant.

I hold on to Jesus when I don’t understand what’s going on, especially here. And yes, He anchors me. I know that.

But this news, this constant stream of it, is heavy. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even pause long enough for you to breathe.

So sometimes, I drown in my own thoughts about this country and I lose hold of His hand.

Or maybe I don’t lose it. Maybe I let go.

Maybe you should blame me.

Maybe I’m just a girl who complains and can’t seem to follow through on anything, not even something as simple as holding on.

It’s changing me.

Nigeria is turning me into an angry person.

I’m not interested in conversations anymore. I try, but everything feels like too much effort. I want to be a better friend. A better villager in my village. But even that feels exhausting.

I think I’m losing my whimsy.

It used to be so easy to be the happy sibling. Effortless, even. Now it feels like work. And I don’t know how to go back to that version of myself.

I didn’t join my Bible study last night. I didn’t even know where to begin.

Before I got swallowed by all of this, I was trying.

I’m still trying.

I was holding on to the good hthings. The bright things. Everything lovely and beautiful. I told myself I would build systems, create structure. Something steady. Something that would help me grow spiritually. Help me become better. More consistent. More present.

I believe in structure. I believe in order.

I always have.

I had a plan for everything.

But somewhere along the line, I let go of His hand, and now everything, everything, feels like it’s in disarray.

I don’t understand myself.

I’ve never really understood myself.

And I’m not sure I ever will.

This is not one of those pieces that ends with a neat lesson or a burst of motivation.

I’m sorry.

I’m still figuring things out.

I’m still trying to stretch my hand back to Him. Maybe when I’m done writing this, I will. Maybe I’ll find something to say, because right now, I genuinely don’t know what else to do.

This feels unfinished.

But that’s because I am unfinished too.

I’m still figuring things out. Still deciding whether to hold His hand again, or just hold my own.

And I don’t know which one I’ll choose.