I haven’t talked about it in a while because I always sound the same // this is what it’s like

it’s raining.
so dreary…

thunderstorms calm my soul, but this monotonous, aching rain…
it somehow disquiets it….
thrashes its’ drops onto my raw heart in a painfully tedious strumming of brokenness.

there’s an old record on, and it’s scratching, which is kind of comforting in a weird sort of way.
I guess because it keeps on playing… the scratches mar it, but that melody I know, that’s so familiar, can’t be drowned out completely… can’t be scratched away…

J tells me I should drink more water.
I don’t really feel like eating that prepared salad in the fridge.
I have two discouraging things left on my to-do list.

I guess I’m kind of a broken record.

you know, I post all these things about grace and the big-ness of God, but I still just get stuck in all the small-ness of me.
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and it’s really damn hard to look at the things I write and really ingest them, while I’m in the swell of an anxiety-wave or when people attack nonsensically or when physical pain slams into me like a bus hitting my spine or when discouragement drives me hard against the floor.
when I’m not sure what I did wrong.
when I feel totally useless.
when I can’t feel the presence of the Spirit and fall empty.

and I fight so hard against the swell, and I hold J’s cold hand and think “at least I can keep his hands warm. I can do that.”
and for that minute, I’ve got a usefulness, so I hold on hard…
I cling to that substantial, practical worth until I’m strong enough to find something bigger.
morning2

I blow out candles and tentatively wonder… what’s going to change? what’s going to be different?
and life just isn’t what I thought it was…
and I’m not really who I thought I was…
and I feel like this
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these days don’t come nearly as often as they used to, but they still come...
they come strong as hell, because that’s what it is… that’s what’s battering against the gate of my heart.
the only way to fight hell is to fight like heaven.

so I grip his cold hand, and I storm heaven to storm hell.
and I pray, that like that dear woman in the gospels, that I could just touch the hem of Jesus’ clothes… that I could be healed

but I’m not.

this wound… thorn… brokenness…

it stays.

and I don’t know why.

but I breathe in the Spirit, breathe in grace… and I breathe out slow, slow sanctification, breathe out hope.
I take those deep breaths of perseverance, and trust that I’m gaining that character, trust that I’m building a crown of hope…

though I can’t feel it.
can’t see it.
I reach for aid and find empty air.

but you’re raising the dead in me.
I’m not copping out.
I grasp for comfort and warm a cold hand.

4 thoughts on “I haven’t talked about it in a while because I always sound the same // this is what it’s like

  1. April showers bring May flowers . Sweetness, you are one of them! I understand about the rain . God is soaking you for the best possible bloom!

    Like

  2. Oh, sweet girl. My heart is breaking for you. Mostly because I know that feeling. I know that particular pain. To feel disconnected from the Spirit and wonder why. Why must I feel alone when I know I am never alone? How do I fit into the bigger tapestry of His plan?

    My anxiety is a silent battle I fight with myself. My own private hell. I wish I was gifted with the words to make you feel whole, but such words are beyond me. I can share this – something God has pressed into my heart recently. You inherited your value from Him. Your worth is your birthright and completely intrinsic. Even the bad days can’t rob you of that.

    💛

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Aw, Simone.
      Love you and your lovely words! It’s one of those things you can’t really explain and don’t understand unless you’ve been there.
      Kind of a silent, miserable bond, eh? 🙂
      Thank you for your beautiful encouraging words! 💙

      Like

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