I wait and wait and wait,
and still,
pain.
And my patience is making me weary.
I am not scared of silence,
I am scared of the peace I cannot seem to grasp,
I am not scared of the lies my mind spits at me,
I am scared of how long grace upon grace upon grace entails,
I do not fear the dark,
I fear the absence of light.
I do not fear being consumed by this world,
I fear the moment right before that I wait in,
agonize in,
barely breathe in.
I do not fear Satan,
I fear I am forgetting that for all my days I am Yours.
I do not fear feeling lost from You,
I fear I can never fully rest or find refuge in You, or fully lay my burdens down.
I fear the sight in my head of myself kneeling at Your feet
but I keep the weight on my shoulders.
I do not fear my pain,
I fear it not being tangible, like I could be imagining it all when it seems to cloud.
I fear that this is filling up my head, so I cannot rest.
I fear that even after beautiful drops of You heal, heartache still remains.
And yet I’ll trust You? I fear that I do.
Sorrow has quieted my faith, so how will I find You when there’s nothing left of me to offer you except for brokenness?
I do not fear showing this, sharing my stories, or writing more,
I fear no one will carry my voice with them after.
What do I no longer want to feel?
What do I no longer want to fear?
I no longer want to fear what it would be like to actually believe God.
Not just believe in Him, but believe Him.
What He says, has always said.
“I am the Lord your God,
come to me, I’m all you need.”