In the Midst

Giving up, again. Not that there's not been that, already. But again. Continually.

Everything is broken.

The Lord has been guarding my heart against giving into many attacks, today. But not all, and I'm faltering a bit at a time. Just the worst, He's shielded against. The ones which, after realizing the import, would have utterly collapsed.

There's temptation to just stop. Just not to even continue thinking at all, continue through the pain. Grief is so...consuming. His peace is deeper, but there's battle to allow pain to give way to rage, to give way to resentment, to give way to bitterness, to give way to utter despair, to allow for abject despondency. Rather than be borne.

He will remain faithful. Even if that means continuing to crush, so to rebuild. To tear the idols away, till all that's left is Him. His mercy is severe.

There's nothing else, though. Neither I nor the world need anything other than God, ultimately. Everything else is either a lie or a boon of knowing Him, as goes what seems good. And that which reaps suffering, difficulty, horror, devastation, and destruction...all the continued manifestations of sin's havoc wreaked on the world and us all...He will nonetheless somehow ultimately redeem. He will be glorified.

There's nothing else.

So, even having already been only striving according to the strength He gives, then all the more is absolute dependency evidenced, now. To have nothing but to wait. Unable to do anything but wait. Giving up, except as each step is directed. And still flailing and failing as attempting to falter forward, yet still realizing that unless He gives grace...each and every one would be pointless.

I'm still not convinced that there won't come a time when what little has been allotted to remain is taken. By His good graces, then. In His time. Whatever He wills.

This life isn't mine. My heart isn't mine. My hands aren't my own. This body, neither. He has sole proprietorship. And He will bring the vestiges of will into submission. Painfully so, as self dies hard. But far better to live His life, then.

Each unto each, as well.

I forgot, again, that He gives and takes away. I forgot, again, that it's all His.
And that there's no promise of present comforts without tribulation. But rather with tribulation.

Fires and floods. Everything shaken, again and again. And burned, even now, to test the mettle of what's been built. Razed to the foundation. Perpetually.

So be it, Father.
Help.