Well, like I said on FB today struggling...losing...struggling...maintaining...struggling.
And I do, I struggle with this walk every day. With finding time to spend in the Word and in prayer, then attempting to walk out what I am hearing. That is where I am failing...badly. I hear and I so want to do, but it's like I walk out of my refuge in to the world, and it just doesn't take to kindly to me wanting a whole heart faith that seeks after God. Either that, or I can be a woman of God at home, where it is safe, there are few distractions, no one to yell at, no one to jump on, no one to blame (except Elvis). Yet when I leave the house and join the world, there are way to many distractions. The biggest one being me. I want to fit, and I "hide" the fact that I am seeking God, so that others will not laugh and ridicule me. (I get that enough as it is). I had to go search out a poem that I wrote many moons ago that so seems to fit.
What Would Happen?
What Would Happen if I could see Jesus?
Would I sit and talk or show Him off?
Would He be a hit, or would He be ashamed?
Would He walk with pride by my side?
Or hide His face in embarrassment?
With my friends gathered round would He enter in
Or turn and walk the other way?
Do I really want to know, or am I afraid
What would happen if I could see Jesus?
8/26/87
I am finding it very hard to let go of my old "master". He is a devil of a taskmaster, and I do not like serving him. But he is the reality I know, and that is a cop out. I choose to cling to the old, while trying to grasp the hand of God. He is just out of reach. He needs me to choose to let go of the old master, before I grab hold of the One True Master. He is standing there arms open wide saying "jump baby, I've got you". And I try, oh I try. It's only the tips of my fingers touching the tips of the old master's, and I know it only a hop, skip, and a jump into my Father's arms. But, it's a million miles from my feet to His arms, and so I ease back feeling my fingers sliding across the old master's palms. I don't grasp it like I use to, and he does not grasp mine. Because he knows he doesn't have to, he holds me with fear. Fear of that chasm that is so deep and so wide that there is no way my Father can catch me before I fall. And I think, if He would just come get me, just snatch me up and carry me off, but He won't cause it my choice, and my will. So He stands there arms open wide, smile on His face, and a tear in His eye, just waiting, never tiring, never scolding, just waiting...