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Tag: journal entries (page 1 of 3)

Repost: Journal Entry

Journal Entry January 24th, 2010
Originally Posted January 25th, 2010

It is 5:00am. For hours I have tossed and turned, searching for relief from my pain. I find none.

I detest, I loathe my body. This is strong language, yet it is the secret that I carry of abhorring my very being. Fighting bitterness over disappointment and despair of a body turned against me. It rebels. I have little control. What hope is there? What reason to push on and fight for another day?

At 5am (as I wait for dawn after a painfully slow night) it is difficult to see any. Yet I must go on. I must fight. I must wage war against my flesh. I refuse to let me body win. I refuse to be captive to it. I refuse to let it suck all the joy from my life.

Dualism. I am more than simply a physical being. I have a soul that can never die. While my body languishes away, my soul can be filled aplenty as it gorges on God’s grace and faithfulness.

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Journal Entry October 25th, 2011

Disclaimer:  You might not understand this post.  I’m not asking you to.  šŸ™‚ 

“Talk to me,” he says.

The words don’t come.

But the tears do.

My heart and my bathtub are full.  There are words I wish to say.  And yet, I can’t.

He takes my hand.  And the tears come again, for a new reason.  This man, this husband of mine is infinitely patient and kind.  In the words of another, “he is more patient with me than I am with myself.”

I retreat again into my journal and my books and my Bible.  He stays near, but gives me the space to simply be.  I look over.  He sits at the kitchen table with his Bible open, seemingly unaware that I’m watching him.  My eyes go back to my papers.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glance up to check on me.  We sit silently.  Each of us half-engaged in our books; each pretending that we don’t realize the other one watching.  It’s a delusional game.

The gulf between us seems oh-so-wide.  It’s not anger or frustration.  We didn’t get into a fight.  We’re just learning what it means to co-exist.  And learning that God is working on that other person so we need to step back and let Him work.  That’s hard.

I bridge our emotional-Grand-Canyon by taking the few steps from the couch to the kitchen table.  He looks up with bright eyes, hoping that I’ll have words to explain.

I don’t.

As he wraps his arms around me, the tears come again.

I cry because I hurt.  I cry because I am loved and yet so undeserving of it.  I cry because I’m aware of my shortcomings and how un-Jesus-like I am.  I cry because this-thing-called-‘marriage’ is smoothing out all my rough edges and I know that I still have so much further to go.  I cry because this world is not my home.  And I am so very ready for the world that is my home.

He loves me.  Of this am sure.

And I’m pretty crazy about him too.  šŸ˜‰

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Journal Entry [Sunday, March 28th, 2010]

Apex last night and Grace this morning.  

Last night Pastor Rob shared a story of the celebration of the 100 anniversary of Christian missionaries coming to a certain country (Paupa New Guinea?).  At this event, one of the natives of the land got up and made an announcement.  He was only of the oldest men still living and he said that he had important information and if he didn’t reveal it, it would die with him.  He said that when the missionaries first came, the people didn’t want them there, so they poisoned them.  Missionary children started dying.  Yet as the number of graves rose, the missionaries did not give up or get discouraged.  This elderly man ended by saying, “It was watching them die that made us want to join them.”

Lord, so often we hear people say that people will come to Jesus as they watch how we live.  Yet here it is death that brought the change.

I want to live and die as such.  Oh Lord, I am reminded of my desire to be martyred for you and my desire to live everyday as a martyr.  May I both live and die for Your Glory.  In watching me die, may others want to join the cause of Christ.  Oh, I know that it is not easy.  Perhaps it means a lifetime of sickness.  May I be found faithful as I pass through the fire.

Use my life, Lord.  Use my sickness.  May my life truly be a beautiful, broken offering to you.

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