Rebuild The Jagged Edges

Too early to rise, yet I am lulled out of bed, wide awake and aware stars still gleam in the sky.

Coffee quickly brewing in the kitchen, my lifeline. This is how I arrive today—heavy eyelids, leaking heart.

This is a lonely season of my life. I am weary from holding back this truth.

Tell me that the night will end. Tell me that the light will come.

Teach my heart to wait in You, to be still and trust.

 

All that is within me wants to see the other side right now, to know the goodness comes my way, that what I sow in rows of tears will reap an abundance of joy.

You are always good, but this does not feel good to my heart right now. How do I hope when days stretch to weeks, to months, and then I somehow notice it’s been years?

You alone know the ways I am to walk, where each step leads, the trails, the turns, the unmarked maps.

How do I listen through the din of despair, when I stare it straight in the eye, stand at its edge, rock my toes over the ledge? How do I be still to see You go before me to make a way where there is a wall?

 

 

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Tend To The Harvest

There I go again, trying to plant, plow, water and reap my own fields, only to find them trampled by my fumbling feet.
You say the work is plenty, the fruits are ripe, yet who will pluck the precious pieces from their vine? Wheat, golden in the yellow sun, waves in an autumn wind, full and soft and ready to fall apart at a touch. See how they glisten? See how they arch in the afternoon air, beckoning, helpless on their own? How they plead for perfection upon their stalks.
You are the planter. You raise the soil and set each seed in their place among the earth. You gently prod each miracle inside to shape and stir beneath Your touch, and day after week after month You watch and wait for fruit to bear. You, with Your tender care, see the sweet growth and prepare its color and taste.
I am a feeble servant, stretched on my hand and knees to collect the remnants left in Your wake. Where the dirt meets the drops of harvest, there you’ll find my soiled hands. How can I breathe Your bounty when my lungs are filled with dust?
Come, You say to me. The time is right and the fields are full for plucking. Tend to Your gardens with the grace and mercy You first planted. Much work is still to be done, and You have designed a specific purpose for my path.
My heart is eager yet my steps are slow. I fear to trod upon the handiwork of Your green thumb, afraid to till and sift and shake. But You have bundled together those that most fit my fertility, have already given me the strength to stay Your course. Under a waning sky I will take my chaff and store the best for You. I will grow and sow and toil and water, so when the time comes to pluck up Your treasures, so smoothed and shaped they will slide like raindrops off a summer flower and flow straight into eternity’s basket.

Hold Tight To Hope

Though You say You’re with me always, I feel left high and dry. You brought me so close to sweetness and then snatched it away and slammed the door on my heart. I can’t tell You how much that stings. And so I nurse my wounds, already sensing my default to close off from the world.

I am still so terribly alone. And there is nothing You seem fit to do to soothe the sting, the ache. I don’t know how to pray. Don’t know what to even pray for. I have absolutely nothing for You, and what a desolate wasteland that is.

Selfish is me. But I don’t know how else to be. How can I do it—live this life?

I keep trusting in what I cannot see and it is so hard.

You are God. I am not. But I fight for my grip on life, my heart, afraid to relinquish control.

Like I’ve ever been in control in the first place.

 

 

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Come To You

You tell me to come to You.

Me, worn and weary, fall into You, and You will give me rest.

Just come to You.

Simple.

Straightforward.

Just come.

 

Am I that brave?

Do I trust You enough to just come?

Leave my worries at Your feet?

Give You my troubles? The uncertainties of my life? Not knowing which way to turn, job elusive, a permanent place or residence aloof, my fears for settling and giving in to mediocrity?

Can I simply let my burdens fall from my heart and take Your yoke, which You promise is light?

 

 

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Soft Promise

It has to be a daily surrender of my life and heart.

I am too human and full of a choking selfishness to get through an hour more without turning every fiber of my being over to You. To let You take control. To let go of the life I’ve wanted, the life I’ve clamored to get back to, though You’ve continuously shown me that what I want may not be what You have for me.

I must surrender that You are God and I am not, while I sure try and act like my own mini god. It’s rebellion, pure and simple. When I pull away I am stubbornly saying I know what is right for me, that though You can fight for my calm from the chaos of this world, You can’t possibly handle my little piece of it.

I keep making a mess of this life. And I keep begging You to let me live free from my mistakes. Keep clinging to the rumors of Your goodness, eager to experience for myself. Messier and messier, I leave a trail of my clumsiness behind me. But You keep cleaning up what I have broken and finding ways to rearrange the pieces.

 

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You First

The rain is gentle.

So are You.

Reminding me to come back to my first love. Before the world and all its distortions broke my heart, when I walked with You and You were all I could see. All I wanted to watch.

I have forgotten You. Forgotten what it is to love You with all of my heart, soul and strength. Forgotten what it is like to talk to You with intention, with a yearning in my spirit for Your presence, for Your response. To enter into the gateway of relationship, walk beside You and know You are happy being with me.

Love must be loose and not clung to in fear. Love must give of itself freely and let go of what does not matter.

You matter. You alone ask for my love and can receive it.

 

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How To Love You Well

It’s that effortless, always hopeful, always expanding kind of love that looks straight into the soul and says, “I am going to cover your heart with the best of mine. Over and over, continuously.”

That’s what I desire. But to tell the truth, for You, as You have shown me again and again the unending depths of Your ardor, I am afraid I come up failingly short at returning the favor.

I don’t know how to love You well. I don’t know how to love You. I’m sorry. I have wandered. I know how to love another human with all of my heart, a love that is patient and kind, that isn’t self-seeking or jealous. But Your love? It seems an impossible standard.

What is Your heart? Where I have been afraid or unwilling to go, what is the richness of Your life? How do You be what I am asking?

I have to trust You with the hardest things of my life, of my heart. I have to trust You are the Lord of my life, my Protector, my Provider. My Beloved. I have to believe You when You say You are working behind the scenes on my behalf, for my best. I have to believe when it hurts. And my God above and within me, pain pierces like a snap of bone right off the joint.

 

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Hand Over My Heart

I haven’t realized just how scared I am of handing over my heart to You until the wrappers of my self-denial peel off and I delicately hold its fragile contents cupped in my palms. How charred they’ve become from being burned. How exhausted it’s been fighting the vulnerable hurt that comes thisclose to breaking.

How tender and scared my little-girl-self crawls into Your lap, sitting in pain yet unable to ask You to make it better. Unable to release the hold I have against the wound, needing assessment, but my fingers can’t help but keep closed against the pain, cannot give You access to where You most desire to work. And yet I long for the love that You say will heal me, the intimacy where I stand before You, bare and beating heart. But I have been so hurt, opening up my cautious heart and eyes on You when I fell so far and struck flat so hard. How can I bleed when there are no more drops left to spill?

“Trust Me,” You whisper in the face of my fear. What is trust? I need a safe place to lay my heart. Can I trust You in the last space of my soul that balances fragile when light spills against my hidden self and I scramble to hide? Trust You when I am terrified? With the very most precious pieces of what’s left of my hope?

 

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Tonight I Am Here

Tonight I am here. Densely embedded in the forest of the unknown. And I know You told me it wasn’t going to be easy, that I wasn’t going to understand right away. And I was okay with that. So I walked into the thicket, because I trusted You. Trusted You knew what You were doing.

I still trust You. But I am human. And I think too much. Like Thomas, I need to see Your hands and feel physical proof. I want to see the whole picture, want to see the clearing. But I’m knee-deep in leaves and surrounded by the sweet scent of juniper, aroma seeping into my skin. For a moment, I let my eyes drift closed, my ears drawing to the birds chirping through the evening air. Somewhere ahead of me, the path continues on. But I’ve strayed to the side to pick a bouquet of wildflowers, so vibrant and beckoning against the drooping sky. When the morning awakens I’ll fall back into step and observe Your world from my twisted, anxious eyes, longing for an answer to my destination dream.

 

 

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Break Me Open

Answer me when I call to You, O my righteous God. Give me relief from my distress; be merciful to me and hear my prayer.   -Psalm 4:1

 

My heart is not meant to be boxed in.

Yet here it lies, crumpled in to four sides of simple space and compacted into complacency. Iron clad, kept in a darkness so suffocating were it to see the sun, my heart would reel and writhe against the goodness. No room to move, no gap to grow. Just tight, constricting beats that breathe in slow, small gasps. It is imprisoned by my own insecurity.

Lord, help me. Somehow. Please. Break me open. Pull back the shades I’ve kept shadowed in my heart. Let my weakness be exposed, help my heart to speak of Your significance.

I am crumbling in the driest parts of my soul. I am stained by my stagnant hopes, distant dreams. I have been beaten by my brittle belief, content to be contained. Slowly, I am shriveling.

But You are strong. Your glory grows and gathers through the ends of the earth. If You are for me, who can ever bring me down?

 

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