Jesus, I am actually reaching the proverbial point, now, where the things of this world have grown strangely dim in contrast to what I feel you’ve created me for. Something in me just absolutely screams, when then flesh pulls me this way and that. My spiritual self – the real me – cannot stay silent anymore. This was also my experience early on in our walk together. I remember those days more fondly than anything else I can recall; we walked together and spoke freely. I was conscious mostly of your love. It overwhelmed me in a way that made all of the bad stuff eventually lose power altogether.
This is the point we’ve arrived at again now, you and I, and what I’m slowly coming to realize is that you never went anywhere. The devil, he threw everything he had at me (everything you’d let him throw, anyway) and yes, I was down for the count more times than I can even begin to imagine, but I am rising back up again now in such a way that makes the healing seem permanent. I’ve never experienced this before.
Perhaps it’s odd that such breakthrough would be experienced immediately before what I can only imagine will be the most difficult day of my life. I anticipate with unmitigated and utmost horror the experience that awaits me less than forty-eight hours from now, and yet also there wells up within my soul the most absolutely unquenchable fire of your presence. Truly, you are a God of miracles. You shall not suffer me to be moved. You have chastened me sore, but have not handed me over to death. It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might become intimately familiar with the very depth and meaning of your goodness. Before I was afflicted, I went astray, but now I have unshakable trust in your ways, and I know that unless you build the house then everything about it will be useless in the end.
