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On Friday, I had a bit of a meltdown. I literally could not take one more hit, jump, or yell, so I banished the kids to their room until their dad came home. Please don't think too badly of me -- Craig arrived home a mere 15 minutes later (thank goodness) and just the presence of another parental figure allowed me to take a deep breath and continue on.
But, in those fifteen minutes, I had to let something blow, so I grabbed a notebook and just started writing. I am posting this, unedited, raw, and perhaps not very good piece of writing just in the name of realness.
Who are You?
Who do you say that I Am?
You wrestle with my soul.
You fight for Your glory.
You are the bestower of joy.
You are light in the dark.
A counselor, a lover, the balm
That heals my wounds.
A refiner that does not hesitate
To take me at my word:
Less of me, more of You, I plead,
Although I am unsure what that really entails.
I plead for escape, desperate for a different purpose,
But You keep me pressing on,
Pressing in, until I am
Unable to give another drop.
And then, some way, somehow,
You rescue me, but not in the way that I imagine.
The world is not fixed, the children not placated,
The woes still very real.
Rescued nonetheless from the
Emptiness, from the
Dryness, from the depths of
You rise in me.
A sense of hope, a ray of brightness,
A fullness that can only be knows as JOY.
You never fail.
In all Your glory and in Your glory alone,