Even When I Wasn’t

As long as I can remember, I’ve been prone to melancholy.

It’s always mattered to me to have someone to walk with. Someone to pour into. To nurture. Somehow, giving myself away with consistency is where I’ve found my sense of purpose.

So what happens when that’s suddenly gone?

This. What I feel right now. Melancholy.

But these moments expose something too. A weakness. My drive, my sense of purpose — I’ve been drawing it from pouring into people. And when there’s no one in front of me to pour into, the well runs dry.

Those relationships gave me something real. But they were never meant to be the thing that holds me up. There’s a deeper strength I’ve never learned to pull from — because I never had to.

In the silence of being alone, I’m realizing just how alone I’ve been. Even when I wasn’t.

I want to trade this melancholy for a walk with God. Not for more people to pour into — for Him. I need Him to be my righteousness and my strength (Isaiah 45:24), the ground under all the rest.

Lord, be my companion today. Feed me. Teach me. Fill this void.