When The Music Stops

My soul is troubled beyond words. Sporadically throughout the day I have found myself gasping for breath. As I work, I’m listening to house music because it’s the only music that drowns out the world around me. I’m not given to drinking, but what I really want to do is have a drink…and talk…talk until I run out of words, until my throat is so dry that I become hoarse and my words come out as little more than a whisper, but instead I pray. I staved off the tears for a while by avoiding the news and the daily tabloid television entertainment news shows. I have been watching old movies and PBS, or anything else that helps me to avoid the subject at hand. I waited 24 hours before I checked Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. I have prayed more in the last couple of days than I can even express. That’s saying a lot because I already pray incessantly. But Sunday morning I was caught off guard. With no notice I began to cry. No, I began to sob uncontrollably. Please know that I often cry for many things: the death of the innocent, the weak, the mentally ill, and the less fortunate; the birth of babies because they don’t know what kind of world they’re being born into; for many things, but this was different for me. It almost felt personal.

Moments like this bolster my faith because the Bible says: “…that in the last days critical times hard to deal with will be here. For men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, self-assuming, haughty, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, disloyal, having no natural affection, not open to any agreement, slanderers, without self-control, fierce, without love of goodness, betrayers, headstrong, puffed up [with pride], lovers of pleasures rather than lovers of God, having a form of godly devotion but proving false to its power; That’s from 2 Timothy 3:1-5, if you’re wondering. I’m not going to turn this into a spiritual or a religious dissertation. I just know, for me, I see this every day, and today, this week, I see “no natural affection.”

 

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My name is Taya R. Baker, but I write under the pen name T. R. Baker. By day I work for a state court judge; by night I write, copy edit for new authors, and provide scoping services to court reporters. I’m the oldest of my parents’ four children, and the only girl.

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