Desert

What does being in the desert look like for you?  How does your heart feel when you wake in the morning?  When you pray, do you hear Him?  Do you feel loved for who you are deep down inside or who you pretend to be?  Are you scared?  Do you cry tears of brokenness?  And who do you let in?  Who can you trust and how do you know you are safe?  Who do you speak to about these things if anyone at all...

Early morning sun wakes me and I roll over and murmer "no."  First tears of the day bring sadness instead of relief.  I lay in bed for several minutes speaking to You aloud in phrases; phrases that only You can understand.  I do not hear You.  The silence is palpable.  I am struck by a deep fear that this desert I am in will be forever...that I will never leave; that You want me to learn something I am incapable of retaining.  This brokenness; this brokenness - this is not Your plan for me.  It cannot be.  Yet my fear of letting go of my heart holds me in chains to this state of being.  I am strong and stubborn; fiery and passionate; strong-willed and prideful.  These attributes in me beckon me to the dark place...I want to embrace them and hate You.  I want to blame You.  I want to run from You.  But I cannot do any of these things because the Truth is more powerful.  You tell me that I am wonderfully made, but I cannot see it.  I refuse to see it because my assuredness in who I believe myself to be tells me otherwise.  I am begging You to take me from here; take me to a safe place where I can be with You and curl up in a ball on your lap and cry in safety.  I cannot learn here - in my desert.  I am frozen in pain and cannot address what I need to within myself because of it.  You say that You love me and I foolishly believe You.  Please...take me away.