The words of my mind turn sour, bringing a potent abruptness that turns my mind into itself. They bleed into my thoughts, oozing into all the cracks and faults that course through my brain. The only defining word: tart. The words bite into the tender flesh that I believed was covered, but I begin to fear it is not. The caustic fear begins edging into my consciousness, dripping throughout my exhausted moments, and threatens to draw me back to the edge I have progressed so far away from. I know in You I am accepted, secure, and significant, but—the word I despise so intensely—living in a culture so far from You is taking its toll. I long for the attention and encouragement I have received in the place closest to heaven on earth for me, but receive little. Oh how I long for rest and reprieve. How I long for the still waters and green pastures. Yet I stand in a barren field, the sharp rocks exposed to the scorching sun, the green seeped out from lack of nutrition. The land itself: tart.
The lies: tart. They leave a sour taste in my mouth, threatening to drag on unforeseeably. I refuse to return to the days that left scars upon my emotions and biology. I am a new creation. But oh how tired I have become, losing the will to fight the battle You have set before me. In You I can do all things, help me believe this as I reach out in search of community that will support and encourage me daily.
“Finally, brothers, rejoice. Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you.” ~2 Corinthians 13:11