A cruel day.

It builds through the hours.

It begins with insecurities.

“You’re not enough.”

“You’re too much.”

“It will never change – you’ll always be stuck. Everyone else is moving ahead with their lives and you – alone, unwanted, undeserving.”

“God loves everyone, but you.”

At the onset, I know it’s all lies. Yet, I let the words pester me. Build on me. Make me uncomfortable in my own skin.

The day continues.

And the agony continues. An arrow to the heart.

And the fear.

And the anger.

Always the anger.

“Why?” I cry. “Can’t I just be done? I can’t take the pain anymore. It’s too much for one person to handle.”

The urge to harm myself so deep. Anything to release the ache and anxiety.

I try to write, but nothing coherent comes out. I toss my laptop aside. I clench my fists in fury.

The desire for rage builds. Rage against myself. My lack – of order, of control, of hope.

It takes me to the brink.

Then I remember. Too late, I remember.

I have an arsenal at my command.

“Jesus.” I whisper. All my strength gone. Tears stream down my face.

“Jesus.” I repeat again and again. I don’t have the strength for anything else.

In my mind, I call down the angels of heaven to protect me. To unsheathe their swords and strike the enemy and his, down.

A battle taking place.

For my soul. For my broken heart.

My fragile being.

Now in my bed, tears drying on my face. Dampening my pillow. Exhausted.

The battle is done, but sorrow remains. This is no joyful victory. Maybe tomorrow I can celebrate, but for now I lay still.

It’s clear in these moments why God reduces our days. How long can we survive under sin? He is merciful to take us. He is kind in His limitation.

 

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