Looking for the Eucatastrophe

Let go, It's what you need. Let go, And you'll be freed. This grip is poison sinking in, It's you falling deep in sin. I can't let go, I'll lose all I love. I can't let go, All will crash above. I must hold on to this pain, Otherwise I'll go insane. Let go, I'll hold it for you. Let go, You know it's true. You cannot truly be free, Why can't you see? I can't let go, It may all fall apart. I can't let go, It'll break my heart. I have to be strong, I have to sing this song. Let go, I saved you. Let go, I'll make it new. Surrender to the flood, Be washed in the blood. Make me let go, I cannot do this on my own. Make me let go, I hate the seed I've sown. I need you to take my pain, My sin is driving me insane.

Why does love feel so much like searing pain and loss?  The world interprets love differently, as a potential gain that inspires meaningless feelings caused by a mere chemical reaction in the brain.  This lonesomeness and these painful choices by no means feel anything like what I've heard that love is.  Conclusion:  Love is not what the world says it is, but rather it is a direct choice as laid out in God's word. If this is true, then of what benefit is love?  Suddenly it doesn't feel like the romantic image of fated union or the warmth of a maternal/paternal bond which shelters completely from the storm.  Now it feels like a cold calculation.  Yet, I cannot help but wonder if it was meant to be this way.  Love's difficult.  Love's painful.  Love's intentional.  Love's so much more than a feeling. Why love? That which is from above. Why pain? As it falls on us like rain. Why feel? I just want to heal. Why? He came to die. He loved. He suffered.

Though overwhelming joy feels as though it will unmake you, overwhelming sorrow, pain, and worry crush.  What can one do when darkness that seems to come from within weighs upon the soul until it begins to oppress and stifle life?  The weight is unbearable, and yet but a few days ago I can recall the great joy that was present.  I have no excuse for the way I feel, and all I can do is fall upon the Psalms and pray. In my life I have found that sorrow, confusion, and discomfort will come whether you claim them or not, but it does not mean that such must be all that there is.  God is still good even in the darkest of days.  His glory is still first.  It must be. When focusing on myself I find that a darkness that I cannot explain covers my thoughts, and yet, as I turn to God and lay before him that which crushes my spirit he answers.  Not audibly, but in small touches of comfort and remembrance.  I find joy in this affliction.  Though when all was right there was no pain, it was hard

I wrote this at a time which I should have been completely content and happy with where I was, but I obviously wasn't.  It is a condition which continually haunts me, when all is right I find truly dark thoughts emerge.  Though I am given good I respond with the bad.  Writing helps to ease these moments, and takes my reflection away from myself to God (where it belongs). Darkness threatens to infest, Haunting hallows in my mind. Sickness quickly starts to bind, As I rot in stagnant rest. Though a gift to my heart, The conflict tears me apart. Why must I fall so far, Betraying those who care. Bitterness comes unaware, Bending thoughts, it will mar. I must escape right now, The only questions how? My LORD my God please save me, Restore me unto peace. Please send me release, That I'd be free. This darkness must not hold, My LORD my God make me bold!

Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.   I look in the mirror and I see that my wish to be a strong Christian has fallen into disrepair as I focus upon myself.   What makes this harder still is the fact that sometimes selfishness disguises itself as genuine care.   Often I think that I am being caring of someone else, but really I am merely trying to justify my need to cultivate a particular feeling within.   I become that which I loathe, but the cycle continues even with my most sincere attempts at objectivity. Shattering dreams become self fulfilling prophecies which are grown through my insincerity and insecurity.   I know that I am secure, so why can’t I live like it.   My foundation is firm, but my walls crumble under the gentlest winds.   Why is this? My Lord, what am I? Soldier, saint, or servant? Strong, broken, or humble? In strength I become weak, And as a soldier I become a coward. My Lord, what am I? When I wander away, that is when this identity crisis rises to my mind.  

             With memory as my companion I wander through the wilds of reality pondering my course.   Regret besets me as I plot my path amidst the contradictory voices that are carried by a cruel wind of uncertainty.   This is my life.   Not the worst, but not the best.   A convoluted mass of emotions and haphazard attempts at logic and objectivity, my days are long and my months short.   Sometimes I can walk evenly, but mostly I feel as though I crawl through the countless hours of gray and sprint through the summer sun.             My greatest adversity is myself and the workings of my mind.   Familiar with doubt and failure, I seek to stand on solid ground but slip into the quicksand whenever I stand on my own.   Then I watch in pathetic apathy as the sand of my accomplishments sifts through my hands.   Ashen and shattered are dreams which sometimes I think I never had.   My condition seems dismal amidst the darkening skies.   A broken world surrounds me as it longs to be set free,