Faith
has become such a pretty word, hasn’t it?
Have faith. But faith kind of feels like… walking down the dark empty hallway at 3 a.m., with hands desperately glued onto the walls as your tiny 5 year old feet whisper across the carpet.
The darkness is loud in your ears, and is invading your eyes, but you hold onto a hope that keeps you walking down that hallway, further away from the refuge you had underneath your blanket. Your parents will be sleeping in their bed in the room just around that corner. And you know there, sandwiched between the warmth of your mom and your dad, you will be safe from the monsters under your bed that want to grab your ankles, from the nightmares of death and abandonment, and where the clicks on the window can’t make your stomach sink.
And years later, faith is in that moment you realize you need Him. Or really want to need Him. But all your life you’ve never recognized His voice… you’ve never really understood His love—or felt it. …But all of a sudden in the middle of September you decide you need Him. While in the past 18 years, He didn’t exist to you. So you hid in your relationships, behind smoke screens and plastic cups. Bartering your body for affections that left you feeling like someone else’s leftovers.
Leaving traces of your heart on painted masks and empty words. This is who you are. This was who you were. Faith is the decision you make on a Wednesday night, when summer is fading into fall. When your fingers are shaking on the stairwell door, and your back is faced to the words thrown like knives, You walk away and it’s really over. We’re done. Your pulse is beating in your ears, while your heart is making runs kissing your feet and your stomach.
You turn the handle, leaving behind the only known refuge you had found under the arms of too many faces, clinging onto the only hope that You need Him. And you don’t even know if He’s real, but you really need Him.
And so, you walk. Clinging onto the walls in a dark, dark hallway, hoping, praying, wishing, that wherever you’re going, you will be embraced, you will be warm, and you will be safe.
Now faith is being sure of what you hope for, and certain of what you cannot see.
Originally posted here.
Have faith. But faith kind of feels like… walking down the dark empty hallway at 3 a.m., with hands desperately glued onto the walls as your tiny 5 year old feet whisper across the carpet.
The darkness is loud in your ears, and is invading your eyes, but you hold onto a hope that keeps you walking down that hallway, further away from the refuge you had underneath your blanket. Your parents will be sleeping in their bed in the room just around that corner. And you know there, sandwiched between the warmth of your mom and your dad, you will be safe from the monsters under your bed that want to grab your ankles, from the nightmares of death and abandonment, and where the clicks on the window can’t make your stomach sink.
And years later, faith is in that moment you realize you need Him. Or really want to need Him. But all your life you’ve never recognized His voice… you’ve never really understood His love—or felt it. …But all of a sudden in the middle of September you decide you need Him. While in the past 18 years, He didn’t exist to you. So you hid in your relationships, behind smoke screens and plastic cups. Bartering your body for affections that left you feeling like someone else’s leftovers.
Leaving traces of your heart on painted masks and empty words. This is who you are. This was who you were. Faith is the decision you make on a Wednesday night, when summer is fading into fall. When your fingers are shaking on the stairwell door, and your back is faced to the words thrown like knives, You walk away and it’s really over. We’re done. Your pulse is beating in your ears, while your heart is making runs kissing your feet and your stomach.
You turn the handle, leaving behind the only known refuge you had found under the arms of too many faces, clinging onto the only hope that You need Him. And you don’t even know if He’s real, but you really need Him.
And so, you walk. Clinging onto the walls in a dark, dark hallway, hoping, praying, wishing, that wherever you’re going, you will be embraced, you will be warm, and you will be safe.
Now faith is being sure of what you hope for, and certain of what you cannot see.
Originally posted here.
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