Struggling. Overwhelmed. Pulled in all directions. I’m short-tempered, something is bothering me. I’ve gone to church twice now. I like listening to the worship music on my phone as I work. I’m reading my Bible, my devotionals. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to but yet You’re so far away.
I know You’re there but I can’t feel You. I used to be able to feel You so powerfully, and now I feel like I’m standing in a dark room, alone. You ask for brokenness. You want me to realize I can’t do this alone, that I’m not strong enough on my own. You want me to let go; this rope of my denial, my guilt, my shame, my regret.
These walls I’ve erected years ago to silence Your whispers are hard to knock down. This anesthetic is so hard to let go. I’m afraid. I feel like a little kid, afraid to lose his arm floaties for fear I won’t make it. The alcohol, the medicine, it gives me hope. A false hope, a fickle hope. I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough to carry all these burdens, keep all these balls going in the air, that I will fall and not be able to get back up.
But You want my trust to be in You. I don’t think I’ve realized how long I’ve been holding on by a thread, refusing to take Your hand, weighted down by my heart of stone.
I’ve been trying desperately to keep it together and feeling like a failure at every turn, until I can buoy my thoughts with whatever is available.
What if I let go? What if I don’t have to do this all on my own? What if I were to let go, only to land in Your arms…
“I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 36:25-26