Trudging

The darkness dances before my eyes,
and here I am,
exhausted by my fallen ways.

I'm tired. I'm tired of me. And of the fight to lose my old ways. Because it never seems to work. Will I ever win? Maybe I would feel hope if I just experienced a victory every once in a while. I'm stuck in the mud, the trenches, and no matter how many times I wash myself, I can't seem to get myself clean. The dirt is a part of me, ground into my palms and cheeks and tongue, and I can't escape it.

Yet, as I fall down into this deep misery, I see a faint glimmer again. And I remember the truth: that I can never wash myself clean.

It's the blood of the Lamb that makes me new.

And becoming holy is not measured by victories.

But oh how it feels like it. I'm struggling to fight hard. I want to be different. I am so disappointed by my failure.

I guess the only thing to do is stand up, lift my head, and begin the slow journey through the thick mud. It's slow going, but it is worth it. For it's the only way to the end. 

these inexplicable days of mine

Sometimes,

I have these days.

Where an inexplicable hurt pulses inside of me.
It's like all my bad memories have come back.
All the words said, penetrating so piercingly.

And if someone asks, "Are you okay?" - what can I say? Uh, no, not really, but I don't know why.

The tears are hard to hold back at these times. Out they come, hot on my cheeks. If I'm lying down, the tears drip down to my ears. They drip slowly, like hesitant rain.

My insides roil uncontrollably, and I don't have a grip, I have no explanation. Just my past sweeping through, a day where it's so hard to forget.  

Even harder to forgive.

And sometimes, all I can do is pray, knelt on the cold floor.

All I can do is cling to the new day coming.

The Ache for You

Certain days are just melancholy.

The air outside is bitterly cold. The rain's drizzling down. The clouds are a gray painted smooth.

I slept in this morning. Made a steaming cup of coffee. Read some chapters in a book. Sat on the couch. Took pictures in the yard until my nose was pink and my fingers hurt.

Days like these help me understand what's going on in my soul. They help me burrow down and think.

And I am listening to music, stuck in this dreary mood. But there's a rightness to the wrongness. An understanding to come in the midst of the gray. In all of the sublime, the magical misery of these days - I acutely feel that there's something missing.

Someone's missing.

And do you know who that is?

It's the Bridegroom.
Jesus, the beautiful one.

And when things feel off and I can't get my mind on track, it's okay. Because this world isn't my home.  Emotions evaporate. This body is not mine forever.

My sin curse is broken and He'll dress me in garments of beauty. This is not the end.

Someday, all will be made right.

Weak Tree.

An old spoken word of mine.
A small thing, really.
Maybe, if you relate,

you won't feel so alone.

insecurity

I am a weak tree

Easily bruised and swaying with the wind

Falling so often like a baby still learning its steps

Stabbed by words so easily

Blushing, crying, thinking, hiding

Wanting to wallow in my hurt

Struggling to erase those piercing words said so long ago,

But written on my insides

And I can’t, not on my own

I can’t

Overcome my insecurity.

But the Lord says to me,

“You.

You are mine.

I clothe you with strength and dignity

and you can laugh at the days to come.

I am with you, daughter.

Feel my hands holding you.

Feel my love.

I made you.

I made you this way for a purpose.

I am catching your tears.

You are precious and honored in my sight,

and I love you.”

I am a weak tree,

But I am surrounded, held, and healed

By the strong wind,

By the lover of my soul.

Beyond Me

Lately, especially, I've noticed how much I think about myself. I've been writing about myself, focusing on myself, wanting attention and affection to come to me. . .
And that should not be my focus.
It's disgusting; it's sick.
And it leaves me in a deflated place.
In a spot with no purpose.

There is something greater.
God has made a hope to cling to and a place to look forward.
Keep on running.
Look to the one who is greater. His strength is so much stronger.
Saturate yourself in the sweetness of God's grace.
There is the best, most exciting, joy-causing truth in the whole universe: that we have been saved!
We have been chosen, we have been rescued.
When we called, he answered.
He saw us in our lowest place and loved us.
He has picked us up.
With him, the burden is light.
He has given us the sweet gift of the Holy Spirit to fill us up.
We are never alone and never forsaken.
He has purpose, even if we cannot see it.
God satisfies our thirsty souls.
And he has given us power and hope and is making us new.

There is so much to be thankful for and so much more than looking to ourselves. These are just a few things I know I need to remember.

Gusts.

Man's praise only goes so far. It can only let me be happy for a minute, elated and joyful for a moment, or even a day, or a week, or years, when I think back on a compliment or a smile and feel a glow, a burst of pride inside of me.

But it doesn't last. No matter how I try, I can't live with joy, trying to keep it up with spurts of love and occasional moments. I can't. I know I try so often. Like a balloon or a plastic bag, getting puffs of air to fill it up, floating along, starting to deflate, sinking, rolling along the ground until another gust comes along to fill it up with shallow happiness that
    isn't
        eternal.

That deflation, sinking, back into the darkness -
it's a miserable feeling.
Hopeless, really.

Because it all can't fulfill the joy I seek and hunger for, the love I was made to know and feel and seek.

I so often forget, and turn back to people around me and myself and sin, I so often forget about people, how they aren't my hope, they aren't who I am made to please.
I was made to worship my King.

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man.

It is. How blind I become . . . always.

He's my hope. He's my song, the water for my thirsty soul.
God, please never let me forget that.
I don't know what to say, I really don't,

but thank you for reminding me of that tonight.
I love when you open my eyes.
I love you.