I am back in His house.
I have been on a hiatus for the last week or two, let’s just say that, I am pretty upset with God. So, like a child on a temper tantrum I turned my back and slammed the door shut on Him. And there I stayed, just me, my pride and the demon whispering in my ear. That old companion of mine, depression, started to make its way back into my life. Last night as I watched a movie with my husband curled up on the couch, I suddenly had this dreaded fear wash over me. This overwhelming fear of dying. I didn’t quite understand it and I had never felt it before. It wasn’t until today that I realized it wasn’t the fear of physically dying but of spiritual death. It came out of nowhere, a black cloud encircling me like a blanket and making its way into the deepest part of my soul. And I carried that feeling to bed with me not understanding what I was sensing but I remember sharing it with my husband and he held me close until we both fell asleep.
It’s Sunday, so I enter His house, hoping to be filled up again with His spirit. I want to feel alive again, I hate this feeling of emptiness. I’m tired. When it’s time to worship, I half heartedly lift my hands in the air because that is what you are supposed to do. And my mind wanders as I sneak peaks at the worshipers around me, silently envying them as I move my lips at a feeble attempt to worship. Some of them are crying, some have their eyes closed as they enter into His presence while others are already with Him basking in His spirit. And me? I feel like a flower withering away in a vase with no water, just waiting to be filled. I feel like a fake as I lift my hands up as far as my chest and I sway with the music even closing my eyes hoping that I will feel Him, and sadly, I feel as empty as I did when I arrived. And as I look around me, I wonder if there are worse imposters in here, maybe a cheating spouse living a double life, someone addicted to porn, another who is here only out of guilt or someone with an addiction that they have mastered at hiding. Or someone like me, struggling to hold on to her faith, holding on to that rope for dear life as we dangle over a cliff. And slowly, as each day passes with more disappointment, I can feel my hands slipping and burning in the process as it cuts into my skin. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on to this rope, this lifeline to Him. To Faith. To believing that the constant trials are all part of His divine plan.
That there is a reason for this long season.
I am still holding on to that rope, still clinging to the hope of….something.
YOU WILL BE SECURE, BECAUSE THERE IS HOPE; YOU WILL LOOK ABOUT YOU AND TAKE REST IN SAFETY ( JOB 11:18)