I walk into the room and turn on The National’s “Trouble Will Find Me”. I reach for a bottle of wine. I put on Bordeaux-red lipstick and re-apply eyeliner. I change my clothes so my skin can catch any breeze that floats in through the open window.
But I stay down with my demons, Matt Berninger sings.
I stay down with my demons.
What are my demons these days?
Uncertainty about what my next steps should be, and whether I should take them driving through the streets of Guatemala City or walking down the streets of Chicago.
Unsure, often forced, and sometimes deliberately-veiled talks to God (Has he sent a response? I don’t always listen for one.)
Actively smoothing out the pebbles and boulders from my closest friendship.
Climbing every day the mountain of mental and emotional health. Some days I only stumble; other days I fall all the way to the dark ravine below.
And yet, what kind of “demons” are these? If these are all that haunt my steps, can I not easily turn to face them? If these are the troubles that knock at my door, can I not safely let them in?
I open the door: In come options and possibility. In comes conclusive faith. In comes pure, deep love. In comes the chance to rise to fuller life.
When they ask what do I see,
I say “a bright white beautiful heaven hanging over me.”
There’s a beautiful heaven under which demons disarm, shift their shapes, and let me see them more clearly for what they truly are: just parts of a normal, favored life.
My demons come through the door, grab the bottle, and join me in drinking and singing along to a song. They laugh at my smeared makeup. I laugh at their shapeless forms.
Arm in arm we walk to the open window to watch the bright life outside, a life not so far from my reach.
I can see the glowing lights
I can see them every night
Really not that far away
I could be there in a day