I want to cry out “Jesus!” So ashamed. I want to make a move, in spite of my trepidation. I can’t. “Face your fears!”, but I recoil at the thought.
My lips become bone-dry at any attempt of prayer. Only lamentations manage to escape (muffled by a hand, of course).
Desperate to lay prostrate on my bedroom floor, but my body is rigid.
The words “Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.” haunt me. Be still, my dear. Be still.
Wrestle God. No. I wrestle myself. And I am winning…and losing this fight. Fatigued. Baggy eyes. No appetite, or I eat everything in sight. The burden of my heart, weighing me down.
Surrender. The word I continue to hear as I determinedly hold on to my stubbornness. Fulness of joy, my foot. I have a rather mean mind, don’t you think?
My child, you haven’t spoken to me in weeks. Don’t be fearful. I long to hear your voice. I can’t. Or I won’t. Maybe it’s both.
I can only hear: “He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t want you.” I know it’s a lie, but I can’t help but wonder. Help my unbelief.