I wish rain would fall on this desert heart of mine. I feel FEAR, always fear. This battle has been long. My feet are infected, deformed, and tired. My weapon is jammed and I'm hot and parched with no water. My back is bowed and my mind holds no sense of clarity.
One shot, two shots, three!...a mortar round and a sniper! It's a hit, I'm bleeding. I'm not fit for combat, I need a medic. I'm a sister in arms fallen on the battle field, but no bother or sister can hear me screaming through the ringing gun fire and explosives landing in their own tents and trenches. I can even see some doing hand to hand combat with the enemy. Looks like some were prepared, but the enemy has others in a choke hold.
Its fogy this battle field. You can count every second and it feels like years.
"Come on Jennifer remember your training! Get up! Fight!" But you can talk to yourself all day long, but your bodies in shock from the wounds you've received. Infection has set in and it has traveled to the heart.
HOPE! "Hope, why do I feel hope? Where is it coming from and why now?" And then I realized, "Hope comes from revelation. Revelation of the truth! The truth for me tonight laying on the battle field gasping for air and bleeding to death, was that PRIDE came and so did my fall.
I hate it! I can't seem to get rid of it, but I can always find plenty of time to feed it. It's a beast. I want to be the god of my own life, and I spit at God and tell HIM to move on with HIS request.
I am what I hate in everyone else. I am a hypocrite, lying, backstabbing, two faced, whore of a bride to Christ. I am the WHORE.
Lord? Lord? Can you and will you please take my black hard heart and make something of it? Can you take these wounds and bind them up. Can you teach me how to put on your armor? I'm so sorry and my grieving heart can barely put it into a request for forgiveness. I need your touch, your grace, your mercy. I'm the tax collector standing outside the temple scared to even raise my eyes toward heaven and all I can do is beat my chest and beg for mercy. I've got bloody hands and filthy rags. I have squandered my inheritance. I want to come home Abba Father. Let me feel your touch. Replace fear with peace and assurance. I need discipline and obedience training. I need rest as well. I'm tired of being tired. Oh please Lord let tonight be the night of my return. For you are the only God and I give you my life as a living sacrifice once again. Speak Lord, speak loud and clear.
Your Prodigal Daughter, Your Whore of a Bride.