when did it become a broken thing to be the one who searches? when questions are met with rolling eyes and huffing sighs.
you should know this already.
i am weary of tears being scorned.
i am weary of wrestlers being watched with indignation.
church, where have you gone?
broken daughter, where do you stand now?
judging souls, are you so flawless that scorn is something you are free to cast about like rocks into a rippling lake?
if we knew, we would not need an Answer.
if we lived in a perpetual place of strength, would we still need a Rock?
Jacob's wrestling gave birth to Israel. the fingers of the Son on his hip gave him lifelong pain and weakness.
for greatness to come, weakness must be accepted.
i'm overwhelmed at this place in which we stand.
we are the King's chosen. we did not walk up to this throne and demand our birthright.
we came on hands and knees, torn and broken. dirty and abandoned by this world that never let us call it home.
to love is to be vulnerable
not one of us was born here. we were all swaddled in grey and black and brown of sin and death and darkness.
but He gave us His garments of Light. but we had to come first. we had to crawl to His feet and reach out shaking fingers to brush against His hem.
be free, love.
be a seeker.
be a muser.
be a wrestler.