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For the sake of beauty, inspiration, and sanity.
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Day 127: Once in a while it really hits people that they don’t have to experience life in the way they have been told to. Alan Knightly
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Father, Friend,
How I’ve looked for you these past few weeks. It feels like a thousand daunting works lie against me, and your face nowhere to be seen; your voice of life muted in my disgrace. Oh courage, you abandoned me. In my quest to suit myself, all thoughts aright were lost, all words of truth betrayed. I, betrayed. Betrayed by a ghost of hottest loss. Leveled and brought to affliction through no light conflict: do I live, or do I Live?
Worst yet, you are the life I thought I trusted in. But the trust I sought was an ideal, at best, and not the truth you fought for. What you bought and gave and longed for I sought with prideful reserve. I would do it. I would win your glory. You were not enough.
But where am I now, without you, Lord? The King of my youth, of my affections, of my limitless grace? You are the author of this heart; in you my breath finds its purpose. You’re right: I am right in you.
Why must fear win? Why must I insist on living a half-life, wounded, in the dark, out of control? My fault was the idea that control was ever mine to claim; in you alone my heart should rest. You are that hope. My only hope. And hope is only true when I cannot control it. You, righteousness in your own terms, on your own terms, and at your own disposal.
If I could see my soul, I’d see streaks of pain marking a dirty face, living like a widow in her marriage bed. I long for you when you are ever there. I choose to leave you, over and over and over, and you seek me always. My heart is sold in honor and faithfulness; I, a slave of love. You are my Husband.
Lover, oh holy Lover, caller of lifeless loves, of hopeless hopefuls, of patient deaths. Do I hold onto myself? The day I choose to do so is the day my sight leaves your face. I drown midst my controlled sorrows and a world of self-righteousness. But your seed remains. I have tasted Love. I have tasted rest. But I have yet to know your might.
What comes by faith I beg you- restore to me. Shepherd, show your arms. Take what is mired and listen to my heart- the parts that are silenced by fear. I am yours, wooed and offered up like Psyche. Make what is yours faithful. Make what is faithful shine and break upon the hearts that lie, that lie darkened. Break forth, Love.
To know you is to trust you. There is strength in quietness.
Don’t let fear keep you from restoration. The righteous will live by faith in the power and justification of God.
5/3 Ernie
oh my gaaaad
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