People leave for work.
Bills require payment.
Meetings need attending.
My heart is broken.
We’ve lost a piece of our heart, yet the world continues to turn.
I scream. I cry. I throw. I punch.
I see those sweet faces vividly in my mind's eye.
I see those dimples, that whispy blonde hair, that smile like a dagger cutting through the core of my soul.
Where is their justice?
I am angry.
I am broken.
I am overwhelmed with helplessness; powerless to do anything.
I shriek pleading sobs of mercy to God.
I furiously demand from him answers.
He draws me in.
I am an angry child stiffening my arms to block the embrace of my father.
I am a toddler throwing a tantrum on the floor petitioning for my wants.
I am a teenager whose eyes reflect back the betrayal felt in the depths of my being.
All the while, my father pulls past my locked arms, looks deep into my accusing eyes and restores my soul.
In a moment, I am betrayed, finished, but this love will not let me go.
The rage burning in me to stop believing is extinguished by the calm tide of his love washing over me. Then I am overwhelmed by the one I seek to deny, the one whose existence I call into question.
He loves me with an everlasting love and continues his faithfulness to me (Jer. 31:3). My flesh desires to renounce all I have believed to be true, as my spirit writhes in conflict, yet the very captivity of my soul bound to him is a blessed assurance. He is God. I am his. Oh great love that will not let me go.
