I spent the last five hours trying to write. Writer’s block has a hold on me and I can’t shake it off. I have come up with every excuse imaginable to not even try. I usually draw my inspiration from being outside in my garden, but it is too cold. This morning, I got up too late and lost the “quiet time” that I know is required to do this. The noise level in my house is huge, with teenage musicians and their electric guitars and dogs barking at imaginary visitors.

It feels like it was yesterday that I sat down and wrote my last entry, but it’s been a whole week. I have lost an entire week. And then I look in the mirror and I see my almost fifty-year old face and I think where did the time go? Did I waste all that time in my life making excuses?

I imagine the clock hands spinning, like it did in those old movies to portray the passing of time. I picture myself hanging on to one of the hands, thinking, “Please let me off”. I have an agenda and my writing needs to fit between certain areas on this clock and that time has already passed. Do I move on to the next thing on my list, like the laundry? Or do I get off that hand of the clock and get serious about my writing? I decide to step off with blind faith and as always I am caught in the arms of the Lord, as we converse about what really needs to be talked about. No more excuses.

This is not a subject that I want to deal with and I have been digging my feet in all morning. I am sure this is the root to my writers block, the obstacle I have to overcome. I can easily get back on that clock hand if I don’t want to face this subject. Just hop on and go around and around like a merry-go-round, but I am determined to get off that ride and face what needs to be worked out. It is just today I am being stubborn, like a spoiled child, refusing to do what is good for me because it is too hard.

This past summer we had an incident involving one of my close family members and it has fragmented an already strained relationship with my mother. I have spoken to her only once since then, almost five months ago. I am the one that call her to try smooth things over. The conversation went over similar to one I would have with an acquaintance. All about weather and world news, empty conversation between two complete strangers. Neither one of us has tried again

All of my life it seems that my mother and I have been on our separate merry-go-round rides. I catch glimpses of her as we spin around. Her hand is stretched out and she has a look on her face that tells me she wants off. In my mind’s eye, she is a younger version of herself. She is so pretty but wide-eyed with fright. I spin around opposite of her and hold out my hand as we pass. I stretch my arm to the limit, standing on one foot, making myself as long as possible to reach her. I pass her by and it is as if she looks right through me. It is as if I am invisible. While growing up, I tried to get her to notice me by being the perfect little girl, but often found it was more effective being bad. I wonder whom she is reaching for. I wonder if she is trying to reach for her mother.

I am tired of reaching Lord. When do I say enough is enough? If she would make an effort to acknowledge me, it would make all the difference, but because she doesn’t it hurts me. Why should I keep that relationship open? Why bother, if she can’t see me? I pout, arms crossed and I stare out the window, looking for comfort. I take a deep breath for a heavy self-pity sigh and as I exhale the answer is given.

I am praying to a God that I cannot see. Yet I know is there. Do I love God even though I do not see him? Do I believe he loves me? The answer is yes to both questions. It is when I believe in that love that I can boldly take my step of faith and get off the ride.

If God thought the way I did, then I would be spinning, forever out of control. If I am to wait for someone to love first and my mother is waiting for someone to love first, when will it end? I cannot love freely if I am preoccupied with what I need.   I think everyone is searching for unconditional love and it is right there, invisible, but it is there.

The day I opened myself up to an invisible God and felt His unconditional love, something transpired between us. I can now give that same love to her, even when I am invisible. And I hope one day, she will open up to it.

It is easy to get lost in this world when I am on this spinning ride of time. It flies and I miss opportunities. I have worked on this piece all day long. I have reached down deep and found mercy. To have mercy on a mother who needs someone to love her. She might not see me, but I am here. She doesn’t know she is worthy of love and maybe I am to show her that she is.