My heart crashed with the thought I have
been set aside by someone. I am too much to invest in any longer. There is no more medicine from them to me. As I pondered the finale feel to a
'I give up' I felt crushing going on in my soul. Like a
dad saying he no longer wanted to be your dad... something to that effect.
Difficulty was just too much to carry. I could not stop crying so I took a
shower for a place to just release some pain. I came back and began to write.
It is the difficult that always seems to
be the best for us. I suppose I'm reaching over into the cardinal or that place
that is not looking for my best all around, just my minute to minute pleasures.
Would I need a Father if I could do this all on my own? Would I take out the
trash in my life if I were left to be the judge, jury and complete say for my
verdict? My anger rises and says... did I ask to be here? And then I'm taken to
look at such a compassionate God who said He was going to redeem me before I
knew I needed redeemed.
Help me Poppa, help me understand I
cannot redeem the world, nor even myself. If I can get this work, it surely
will help me not expect it from anyone else concerning my own life. If I am
left to fend in the dark by someone because my value has dropped below my worth
the trouble... I am falling under unless I have some One grab my heart before I
hit the ground. I listen to reason, but whose reason is the loudest... my own
that might surrender to the value set by someone's weariness.
Oh how I despise
my own lack of being strong and able. How I despise my flesh that renders good
and bad together as an answer. I am fully aware that life is only from my
Creator. You only give life and You even give life more abundantly than
expected; yet my actions curl up in a defeated position as if what I know has
no say. I only know to stay reaching,
stay in the Kingdom and trust Yours is the glory forever... not mine. You make the darkness tremble which means I
too release the same if I stay in Your Kingdom.
Looking at life with new
affection. Looking at the floor as new
height, seeing it as a surrendered definition unknown, takes the crush of
a paralyzed word into a stairway filled with opportunity to see fresh with each
step upward.
I offer my pain to the True pain giver, the One who uses my
dysfunction to bring me to live in the suffering for Christ's sake.
Mourning the process of acknowledgements.
Mourning and grieving the city, Jesus pushed through to not give up. To know
that although He sees the city in a wreck, it is more than just this one city
He mourns. Not taking the discouragement to a place that it is over. Nothing is
over until the Father places the fullness of His love as completed and
fulfilled. I walk in His righteousness, not my own. I walk in His strength to
continue, not my own. I walk in His revelations, not my own. I walk according
to His path, not my own.
When I fall, I get back up and look for the path
again. I watch for His hands to be outstretched as He refuses to give up on me
or any of His children. I declare He is the right way. The hand I see pulling
away from me is not my Father's. It is the deception of fear. It is the deception
that I am being thrown out as orphaned. I am purchased and owned in love's
grip. I have kindness stored in unmerited and unimaginable supply. I have been
given an insight into a song being written, a story being told, a love that
cannot run out.
I have yet to experience the greatest height built to seat me
in heavenly places. I am so close in His love, I might think I'm alone if not
understanding the beauty and freedom of abundance. The enemy wants to keep a
noose about my neck but the Father lets the heart roam and find. Explore and
give back. Sound out noises and let it be gathered to be footsteps of angel
armies. Calling and rushing to win much.
Believing has the might to break
eardrums of the flesh, but cause the sounds of heaven roar in praise. Believing
has the capacity to paint on the edge of a stretched atmosphere and further
the roaming heart. Sealing the song
about generations of believers. Original sounds happen from believing, which
thunders otherwise chaos. Word comes alive and forms a revelation. The mind is
renewed as hunger stirs the heavens storehouse of recipes. Final touches are
made as believing stays focused and not weary.
The continued invitation rattles
the impatience into holding beauty with care... like the watch of a float
rather than a fall. The beauty one can behold as time no longer becomes the
focus.... just seeing Holy. Just beholding His beauty. Just the satisfaction of
being instead of hoarding a mess nest.
Holding the moment. We cry, we sing, we dance, we climb, we move, we
eat. We are, instead of we want to be...!!! Dark is only believing while in the ground, before the bloom.
