His Cup Overflows.

You never cease to amaze me.

Once again, I have no choice but to come before you... only to be softly, lovingly rebuked... I was always meant to come before you. In all this turmoil, this struggle, and this perseverance of faith, I have forgotten that you had always meant for us to rest. I sooner began to try on my own - try to stand on my own two feet. How wrong I am. How do I proclaim that I am faithful to you, that I remember your promises... and forget to dwell in your spirit?

Yet, you, like an eagle swooping down to catch its younglings, lift me up to a place of rest again, where I need not try, I need not make an effort to be what I think you want me to be. You call me to rest, to be restored, so that in your spirit, I can be guided along the path you have chosen for me.

Because I was never meant to walk this world alone - alone with my faith, standing on my own two feet. I was always meant to walk with your hand resting on my hip, and your arm tightly around my waist, and the other hand holding mine tightly, so that I would never forget just who you are, what you mean to me, and truly, what I mean to you too.

PTL, Sarah.

I type "you" the way that I do because you aren't supposed to be unreachable. Yes, I proclaim that you are God. But you are also our father, our best friend, our lover, and you have made it possible for us to be so intimate with you, to feel you, to hear you, to see you. I don't do this out of lack of respect, but in fact, in gratitude and gratefulness, because you love us too much to be a distant God. You wrap me in your arms of love, and you call me yours.

De-Guise.

I stare and I think, and I think and I stare some more. And yet, it's still all just white space that floods my eyes. There is no slight tremour, no flicker of movement. There is no spectacular spark of beauty, no stroke of vibrance. It is all just plainness, and this time, I fear it is no longer temporary.

My mind has become the body of a manikin, undressed by fancy sentiment, stripped of the trends of eloquence and materialism. I am bare, and I am naked, and now I'm just too afraid and too ashamed to walk on. As it is, I am a mere figure, aren't I? So why can I not feel the tips of your fingers pressing against me as you twist and turn my joints, exercise my limbs and stretch my posture to continue your work? Your work that chisels, chips, and slits deeper into my woody flesh, leaving me fragile, vulnerable, and weak.

... But I quickly forget. I am far too drawn by, and helplessly drowned in, the love pouring from your eyes when my head is tilted your way. The twinkle is right there in your eyes, and I know that what you have in mind for me is far more beautiful than what I could ever dress myself in.

Yet, sometimes, you turn my head away. Sometimes, you don't let me even catch a glimpse of you. I am left, terrified, with only my faith in you to keep me from jumping right out of my skin and deep into another's dresser. I strain to see, but I cannot. My neck is so stiffened for your purposes that all I've left to do is strain to hear that familiar clink, clink, clink! as you chip away at all my rougher edges.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid because sometimes, I can't see you. I can't hear you. I can't feel you. I stare, and there is nothing, and I find that I am left with nothing - nothing but my wavering faith and mere memories of your voice. Your voice that says: I love you, I will never leave you or forsake you, I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

You are the only reason I still stand here, trembling and terrified, completely broken and exposed. Yet I stand unashamed, because I know that only your love can bring me to my knees.

PTL, Sarah.