Go grab a kitchen knife and stab yourself through the heart. You'll feel a sharp pain. Then, it will get hard to breathe. Then, everything will go numb.
This is how I feel, every moment, every day. It will not last forever, this I know. It is just a test, a common test of life. What is this life, if not a test.
I do not want it to be a test. I do not want God to be real, because of course God is the judge to whether or not we passed the test.
I do not want to love God, to live for him, to trust him. I want to hate him. To tell him that his creation is really, really broken. Really messed up. I want to do things my own way. To live my own life. To write my own story.
He already knows though. And see, I can't do that. I can't not love God. I can't not live for him. I can't not trust him. I can't hate him. Because I know he is real. I know he is there. I know that he loves me deeply and knows my future. I know my favorite verse Psalm 37:4. I know it's true. And I know that the knife through my heart will begin to heal, only as I cling desperately to my Savior.
Often, I wake up in the middle of the night; my heart burns. The emptiness in my stomach is so deep I feel like throwing up. I cry, scream into my pillow, willing life to stop. Willing the pain to go away. I want to cut myself to feel physical pain instead of emotional pain, because surely it would be easier to bear. I want to swallow pills to numb the pain, or to drink alcohol until I can not think. I want to do any earthly thing that will make it temporarily better.
But instead, I get out of bed, kneel on the floor, and I pray. The tears do not quickly stop. The pain does not easily cease. Prayer is not an instant salve for my wounded heart. But like a good talk and a hug from a friend, slowly...slowly, I start to believe that it will be okay.
When I don't feel like being thankful, I thank God. When I don't feel like trusting God, I choose to trust him. When I don't feel like praising him, I sing anyway. After I pray until my knees hurt, I weakly pick up my worn guitar. The color is gone from the neck, and the body has so many nicks it wouldn't be worth much. But it does the job for me. I sit on my bed, and quietly play, forcing out words of praise and thanks among my tears.
I sing, "It is well" although nothing feels well. Nothing feels alright at all, and my song wouldn't sound like much to anything with ears, but to my Jesus, the plea from the deepest, most wounded part of my soul, crying out, "daddy, help me"...it is a beautiful sound.
And without fail, I feel peace. After an hour or two, my heart is calm, just enough to fall back asleep. In the morning, I will wake up, again angry, broken, and just a little less empty.
It hurts because it mattered. But nothing on this earth will make it better. Nothing.
I know because I've tried. I've tried to fill this emptiness. I've tried everything that I need to to know that earthy things can not fill my soul. So I keep coming back to a desperate plea of, "daddy, help me..." an honest cry from a breaking heart - is all that He needs to assure me that everything will be okay.
I can not deny him. I can not deny that God is love. No, I don't understand why life is bad. I don't understand why there is sin, lies, and broken hearts. I don't know why I can't write my own story. But because it is what it is, I will choose to let go. I will choose to follow him to the ends of the earth. And I will choose, consciously, every day, to trust him. That the wounds will heal. That all will be made new. That he has a beautiful plan for me, so much greater than anything I could imagine, and when the story I was writing goes to scribbles, he gently takes the pen and turns the page, to create something beautiful from my mess.
I still feel the sharp pain. I still feel as though I can not breathe. I wish life was not the way it was. I wish I could change things, to choose what I want, to make it work, now. To not have to wait or struggle or try or stretch or grow. I wish it was easy. I wish I could heal my hurt, and everyone else's.
But under it all, there is a peace that I can not explain. A knowing, that I can trust my pain to a Savior who willingly took my pain on the cross. I can trust my future to a God that holds it all.
Let go, my soul, and trust in him. The waves and wind still know his name. It is well, with my soul. It is well.
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