How can I start? Where can I start? O.M.G. Oh because Oh! Oh does not begin to testify to the awesomeness, the rock-solid ecstasy created by a God who gets it..deep down he gets it. My! Yes, my, he is my God…he shines a spotlight on me in ways that my life seems microscopic in comparison to his ability to see straight to the heart of my matter. God! God!  GOD! There must be some other outer worldly word that could speak about his omni-everything-ness! Godsmybrilligenibeautifunkylovelydicious! There I said it, but did I?! No, of course not, he’s more than that word…he’s wordless, he’s bigger than big! O.M.G!!!! O.M.G!!!! O.M.G!!!!

For quite a while now, my spirit has been in decline. Faced with who I am versus what was in front of me, I shrunk, ashamed of what I could only fathom would be inevitable failure, based on the premise of who I see. And people, both those close and those not so close have been to my spirit like God to Elijah, in the wilderness…bringing morsels of food, that reluctantly I drank and ate. Until deniably, the angel himself visited with a feast, fit for the heart, for the journey it must continue to endure. How can I refute truth that touches the scars of my reflection so pointedly?

Life is not extinct, though sadly smothered. When our renewed heart struggles against our natural heaviness, we should be grateful to sovereign grace for keeping a little vitality within the body of this death. Jesus will hear our hearts, will help our hearts, will visit our hearts; for the voice of the wakeful heart is really the voice of our Beloved, saying, “Open to me.” Holy zeal will surely unbar the door.

“Oh lovely attitude! He stands
With melting heart and laden hands;
My soul forsakes her every sin;
And lets the heavenly stranger in.”

– Charles Spurgeon

Crushed by what I deem to be repeated failure, seeing no purpose for endings where there was no sign of beginning, it just seemed an existential walk in futility, growing bitter over my own inabilities. Why is the sky falling down?

“You were the only one that held me close, when I needed it the most, my friend…” – ‘It’s not over’ by Aaron Sledge

So afraid to let you in to this part. What can you do? What can you do that you haven’t done in other areas? But this part, so fragile…like papyrus torn by age (old scribes of neglect) so afraid to trust…the default, always a child-like repose that curls into itself, knowing the safety of itself.

“Let him comfort you. Let him restore your soul.” – ‘Restore’ by Radiant Worship

Even trust is enfeebled by the crumbs of the past.

“Restore my soul. Restore my broken soul.” – ‘Restore’ by Radiant Worship


No amount of reflection can grant access to the secrets of potential. There is a me that the supreme God calls to, and there is a me that holds Him at bay from healing the injuries, thinking that if people only see, they would hide their face from my upright hands, my shield bearing no shield.

Allowing the unlovable in you to be loved, allows you to see the lovable in others. It frees you from pre-occupation with the conditions that love may rest upon, as it flows in and out of your life.

It can be both triumphant and defeating to realise that even as you dig a deep hole to hide in, the love of God is worming it’s way inside that hole, right behind you. You can go in there and hide your fears, along with the best parts of you…fear stemming from the need for legitimate joy, growing out of our concern that the things that satisfy us the most won’t last.

I don’t like people. I don’t trust people. People have hurt me. They have said one thing, and done another. They have promised one thing and provided another. They have left me. They have abused me. They have been mean. In that dug hole, I trust only myself, and hold myself to the too-high standard of always doing for myself what I promised I would do, for myself. I, alone. I, alone have held on to the ideal fractures that give me a reason to stay in this hole and no matter how far out I come, I crawl back in. There, I said it. Now, God, do something about that. You can, because O-M-G,  you’re God!

Geez, this is going to hurt.


DISCLAIMER: I have some awesome and beautiful people in my life, but carrying a chip on your shoulder can cause you to see through cracked lens. Generally, however, people are not perfect. Neither am I.


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