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Often, I wrestle with God.
a doubter. I regret my own suspicions and fears
and I am also strangely grateful.
Yes, I am glad.
to is honest. wrestle And I have seen that as I face my darkest hours, as twilight turns
to morning and I am awake, still.
As I am fighting and the agony of depression and anxiety seem to overwhelm.
God is my comforter. Even as I
fight, I know his consolation and that all this comes, unsurprisingly.
All this is
me. for Somehow I know that it is through the dog of depression jumping at my heels
and the albatross of fear
heavy on my shoulders, and the arrows of anxiety stabbing at my chest,
I know that God is God,
and I am simply and solely,
wholly and fully, unabashedly
beloved. Oh, I may plead with God to bless me, but I understand its slow coming. And my slow
even here, now, today I am blessed. I may walk through life
with this sorrow, the scars that are constant and deep, so deep
for I have been wounded. I cry out
begging God to prove himself to me. Does he mean for my life
to mean — anything?
Can I trust you, God?
Can I count on you for whatever the future holds?
Trust you that my life matters?
these encounters in the dark, the isolation and despair of depression
change me. Deep within, through my abrasions and soul pain, God is making
I bear the mark of my pain, scars. Perhaps I always will.
But I am also
else. Therein is promise. And hope. I am something redeemed. So even while I stumble, shattered
I am being made strong – perhaps even useful, resolute
and yes, somehow my life is something good.
when God made me he was
pleased. And nothing I can do, have done, will do
my abrasions and soul pain, God is making
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