Finding the Hallowed in the Hollow

There is a hollowness in chronic illness.
 This place where I have fallen. There are seemingly no ladders to the top.

On occasion, unknowing eyes dare to peek in, often mistaking this girl for a stowaway...

one who runs from life.
From friends.

It's entirely possible that I am solely tormented by my own guilt of neglect towards friends and family. Maybe they truly feel it. Maybe I imagine they do.
 Either way, it haunts, and it hurts.
I love them so.

Do they truly know it?

This is not the shivery hideout of uncaring solitude.
 It's where ones, like myself, feebly gather their wits about them, sitting hard on the cold cavern floor...

toes curled; back against the wall.

Just breathing...

...face bowed to knees sodden with prayers.

It's hard to get up. There are moments when lying down is my strongest point. Stretched out thin, worn, and weak.

When dreams come, they beckon light, warmth, and strength to fill the cavern's mouth. A yawn of dawning freedom. One pledge of youthful swaying upon the grass tops...

...flowers entwined in ringlets. Freckles on a sun kissed nose.

I wake to find my finger tracing the damp veins of the cavern floor.
So many valleys and turns.

I don't know how to get out of this place.
I just know that when I unclench my fists, palms open...

surrendering...

He holds my hands in the shadows, 
hallowing the hollow places...

and that is enough.

 "Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah."

(Psalm 32:7) 

This post is in honor of my friend, Craig, who reminded me that I am not alone.