When I sat down to write this post, I wanted to write something deep and moving, to further document the journey that I am on. But I’m tired, a little cranky and full of caffeine and chocolate and my brain doesn’t want to go deep. It wants to watch TV and read blogs and feed my emotions. Do you ever have days like that? Days where your heart is broken and you resist going deep in order to protect yourself from further heartache?
I think it’s normal, this grieving process. It’s hard to let go, even though I know at the core of who I am that God is good and that His ways are higher than mine. It’s hard to lay something down that you’ve been a part of for so long. It may be temporary, it could be longer, I just do not know the end of the story. But He does.
And even though the circumstances are not what I would have hoped for, He is calling me to surrender, to lay down and to trust Him with the outcome. Will I have the courage to believe that this next part of my journey could be a tremendous blessing?
I am praying for the courage to begin again, even though it hurts and I go sometimes kicking and screaming. I pray for strength to stand through the storm, knowing He’s given me the strength and when I fix my gaze, I shall not be moved. I am praying for the right door to open, that I would be a blessing and that I would bring His presence with me.
So tonight I am giving myself permission to just be real. And that’s okay. I will not pretend (nor have I ever) that everything that I am walking out in life is from a deep, revelatory place. Some days I’m just walking, putting one foot in front of the other, blindly going through open doors, almost running into walls and leaving a trail of tears along the way.
Anyways, I really wanted to link up with my dear friend Beth, who has been vacationing in Hawaii, for the Three Word Wednesday. So, here is my post, a poem of sorts, about the real me and the God who loves her.
The Real Me
The sun rises in the morning
yet I long for more hours in the night.
It feels like I’ve barely slept,
mind wandering, warding off worry at every corner.
Yet He calls me to come, gently, in a whisper.
My feet hit the floor and the pain comes once again.
Too much weight, feeling laden with heavy burdens.
“Must I walk this road?”
Hope fades, yet I cling
to the One who promises a brighter tomorrow.
And He calls me to come, gently, in a whisper.
Striving through the day to remain alert,
for the enemy comes to kill, steal and destroy.
I must remain steadfast, standing firm in the faith.
But I’m tired, weary and the light is fading.
Depression looms and the darkness falls.
Still, He calls me to come, gently, in a whisper.
Night falls once again and emptiness brings an ache.
I’m tired, worn, aching, bruised.
And I cry, “Where are You, Lord”?
“Do You hear?”
“Will You answer?”
Still He calls me to come, gently, in a whisper.
Hope rises with the morning sun,
when all is quiet and mind settled.
He comes and fills the ache,
He comes and fills the void,
He comes and answers the cry
of the one who is desperately in need
and whispers His Name.
The real me, she is weak,
but there is strength underneath.
The real me, she is tired,
but she will not fall.
The real me, she is desperate
for a touch from the One whom she loves,
and who loves her unconditionally,
forever and always.
So I will call His Name,
and He will respond, gently, in a whisper.