I doubt. I despair. I don’t know what’s real. But you. You are. I can’t feel you, I can’t see you. But I follow the invisible God until you reveal yourself in this life or the next.

“Where are you?” my instincts cry, hoping for the quietest whisper of “Right here.”

Another voice is quick to fill the silence that follows, “That’s a good question. Where indeed?” But I know that voice. I’ve heard it before. It’s the voice bent on destroying me.

So I will answer my own question with your words: I AM. Because the truth is, I have no right to ask your whereabouts.  You don’t owe me anything. I don’t deserve anything from you – and yet you have poured out your heart for me. And if I never feel your overwhelming presence again, yet I will use every breath that you give me to sing or shout or whisper your praise. You are more and bigger than my emotions or feelings or lack thereof. So I will never stop. I will love you with the love that you have placed in my heart and that is proof enough of you. That is the paradox; when I feel no joy or love or hope, yet I love you because of the love you give. And that is almost greater. That is the hope.