DISTURBANCE

It's kind of late and I'm kind of tired, so what follows might be the ramblings of a misty-eyed loon. There's also a world of uncertainty out there, beyond my laptop perched on the window sill, through the net curtain and into the flashing blue darkness. More about that, Swiss chocolate and Bond villains some other time. This will be a very different kind of blog post.

For now, I've come home with a distinctly uneasy feeling. Something is not right somewhere. I can't tell you what, or even how I know, or whether I'm right at all, but I feel it in the air somehow. It's all very vague. However, I don't want to miss this opportunity, so let me help, if I can.

If it's you, if you're doing something you shouldn't and you don't want anybody to know, for the sake of everyone who loves you, please, please tell somebody and then stop it. Just stop it! Trust me, the sooner you do, the easier this whole thing will be to end. I know how frightening a thought this is. It happened to me seven years ago. I know very well, how trapped, miserable and isolating it can feel. And I would give a thousand worlds to rewire history, change my cowardice and to never have known that feeling at all.

But I also know that I would never have felt like myself, ever again, had I not seen it unfold into the open. I didn't fully appreciate that every private decision has a public consequence, and I wasn't brave enough to do anything about it. I just limped along, pretending, until it all fell apart. It took me seven years to recover. I can't get those years back.

But that doesn't have to be you. Seriously, do something, put a stop to it and tell somebody, and you'll start the journey of feeling like yourself again. That's how God has designed us - forgiveness works like the wind and repentance works like the sail. Unless you hoist it into the air, the wind will blow but you'll miss it. And rowing is horrible. You don't have to row.

Of course, if this is not you, please forgive me, preaching. I'll return to the quirky world of uncertainty tomorrow, when hopefully I'll feel a bit less finely-tuned.