Do You Have Faith In The Dark Places?

There’s a struggle that goes on between what I want to think and what creeps into my heart when my world is silent.

Sometimes the sentry of my heart is exhausted and closes his eyes, just for a moment, long enough for the evil one to poke in a tentacle of fear or doubt. Most of the time I can rip that tentacle apart, chewing it off with God’s faithful promises. But not always.

I find tears breaking out of their dark, suppressed prison walls at the craziest opportunities. I gave up on fighting them. I want them. I need them. I’m not strong, not alone.

I have to remind myself of that. My strength won’t come from within me but through Him. I know that yet have to remind myself over and over again. I can’t always succeed. It falls upon me like a dark heavy cloud that slowly sinks into the skyline.

Not like a darkened hood was thrown over the captors’ head, no, not suddenly. That would be okay. I would recognize it immediately and fight. No, it’s more like a morphine drip. I don’t even realize I’m counting backward from 100 before the surgery and I slip into unconsciousness.

There’s a struggle that goes on between knowing and doing. Between fear and faith. Light and darkness. I have chosen not to run from the battle. I will fight, but not alone, because when I fall, and I will fall again and again and again, I need to be picked up.

There’s a struggle between believing God will continually be with me as before and fearing that he will finally shake away the dust that I am. I know what’s right. My heart should be steadfast. It’s not.

There’s a struggle.

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