It is clear.

Finally.

The name of this enemy. The thing that holds me back.

The one thing, keeping my soul in a pit, a black hole, this mud-filled place, these slippery wet walls. This place where roots press through the watery soil: roots named bitterness, arrogance, judgment, contempt. I find myself grabbing, clinging to them, in a hopeless effort to keep my feet underneath my body in this muck and mire.

Confusing, painful, dark. Not knowing which way is up, which is down. Such darkness, this place.

This place I’ve been unable to name.

I know, I know, there must be a way out. I know, because I’ve heard, that there’s a God, a Creator, a Lover of my soul, bigger, stronger. More powerful than the depths of this hole.

I say I believe it.

But I don’t.

Not really.

I think I know what life is, then. If I believed it. That life, in which I allow Him to pull me out.

I think I know. Because I think of what it was before this pit.

And it’s something I don’t want.

But neither do I want the bitterness, the ache, the condemnation I heap on the ones who helped create this fall, this darkness. I pour it, with vengeance, on my former self, on the ones who caused the wounds, and any who appear to be like them.

I don’t want this, either. The roots might suffocate me. And the pain? It’s still there.

They peek over the edge, the ones who have gone before. The ones who have climbed out. Those who know how it ends.

They tell me, it’s okay. They say, He will carry, hold, embrace you. He will heal. He will keep you close.

There is no need to fear.

And then, in that moment, I see it.

The name, written on the walls of this dark hole.

Fear.

Fear.

Fear.

Fear put me in this pit.

And fear holds me in.

I’m so afraid.

Afraid of what daylight brings.

Will it be what it was… back then?

Will I be hurt, all over again?

Fear paved the way for this grasping, this endless hole. My fear, their fear.

But the mud caking at my ankles? Its very name is fear.

And so, because of my unbelief, my doubts, my wonderings, my hurt,

He pours Love, true, beautiful, pure Love,

down, down, down.

I don’t even know to expect it. But it is there.

Cascading down the walls of my self-made pit. Breaking loose my hold of the roots.

Causing me to fall.

And I land in His arms.

~*~

I fear.

I’m petrified of intimacy with Him. Because the reality of truly knowing Him, who He says He is, it is an unknown. Laying my heart bare, letting Him guide, control, teach, remove lies and replace them with truth… this frightens me. I don’t want it to be what it was before. Because that, that wounded, so deeply.

With weeping, in desperation, without anything held back,

I’m falling.

Back into His arms.

~*~

I’m thankful for a Jesus who is willing to grow His child, even when it looks like starting over.

I’m thankful that not all is lost, even after the wounding, the pit.

And I’m thankful for the ones who give grace, even when they don’t understand.

Because who hasn’t spent time in the hole, grasping the roots around them?

I’m thankful for Jesus.

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