How many times have I called out to God to save me, save my friends, save my family? Save us. Save us. Save me from this illness. Save me from this pain. Save them from this heartache. Save us. Save us.
I texted a girlfriend recently. "I’m fighting the fight." I was OK, really – but tired and defeated and needed someone to know. Fighting the fight. It felt like the most honest four words I could string together. I’m here, I’m fighting. I’m not giving up, but gracious, it is a battle today.
But God is with me. And with you. Even when we give into fear, even when it overwhelms us, even when our souls and bodies give up, and even when our bodies bear the scars of fears past.
Between the cast of her eyes, the tone of her voice and the way she had touched me as though estimating the size of a horse in hands – it was abundantly clear that my body was . . . wrong. Defective. Obviously not as beautifully made as her daughter’s.
So, thank you for not giving up, thank you for loving us in the darkness, for continuing to stay beside us even when you are exhausted and we are not responding the way you hope we would. Thank you for propping us up when we are falling over, for calling us out when we need it, for wiping our tears, for all that you do. Thank you for being the greatest.
So yes. It may be a messy thing you are facing. It is worth the mess. You are worth the effort. Be brave, reach out, let someone help you heal.
Like sunburnt skin that hurts to the touch, I am Raw. I'm edgy and sore and hiding.
It’s hard to even see God, much less come close enough to Him to enter His courts with praise and palm fronds.
It felt important to speak up. To let them know. To help make sure that no one else feels like they have to walk through this alone.