I am a believer. I always have been. My relationship with God and Jesus has grown and deepened in the past few years. The early days of my separation, I threw myself into the word. Praying. Worship. Fellowship. I handed over my hurts, my fears, my struggles, my heart. I said take it. Keep it safe. Help me through. Give me strength.
If God loves me why? I understood the first time. Even the second and third time. He was using me for something greater. He was transforming me into new. The fourth time I fell and shattered, I thought come on. Please just give me something back. God, you are taking and taking and taking more of me. I have nothing left. When the dust settled, I stood back up and felt disconnected with God.
This disconnection has been occurring for months now. I still wake up every morning thanking the Lord for this day. For the sweet boys I get to mother. I ask Him for courage and strength. I go to bed repeating these words. Throughout the day, I may talk with Him. Some days, I forget to turn to Him.
I can’t go to church. I tried. I feel lost and out of place. I feel confused in my role. I don’t know where I belong. And in the midst of this stage in my life where I already feel awkward and don’t belong, my heart cannot take trying to fit in at church.
I have been feeling good. Stable. Strong. Ready to move a step forward in reconnecting with God. Yet, I am holding myself back. I am waiting. Waiting for the next time to happen. Waiting for my face to hit the floor. Again. Waiting to be pushed back down. It is a horrible way to live. Always waiting for the next time. But this has been my life for the past few years. I can’t remember what life is without the next time.
It is here.
Face down in the arena. Again. I have been here before. Multiple times. My freshly scabbed over scars ripped open. Again. Oozing. Bleeding. But now they are infected. The fresh air is only causing the sickness to deepen. Ripen. Spread.
Face in the dirt. Gasping for breath. Holding still until the pain passes. I am broken. Once again. And I just can’t. When every other time came, I turned to God. Trusting Him. Believing Him. Knowing He is close. And I just can’t. I write this with tears rolling down my face. I don’t what hurts more. That I just can’t with divorce, hurt, grief. Or that I just can’t with God.
I have read the stories. I have heard the redemption of Christ in people’s lives. I know of His goodness, His mercy, His grace. I know He is true. I do. I believe in Him and the everlasting life He will bring to me in Heaven. Glory is mine when I leave this earth.
I don’t know a time where I don’t feel broken. I don’t know why He is holding back from me. I don’t know His timing. I don’t know why that for Him to work inside of me I have to be face down in the arena. Again. I don’t know how many more times again I can do before I lose all faith.
I will keep praying. I will keep thanking Him every morning. I will praise Him for the blessings in my life. For I know they are present and real. I will keep the hope in my heart.
But I will always be waiting for the next time.