Have you ever dove into a creek in the middle of winter? I haven't, but I can imagine what it's like. It's cold, that's for certain, but it also makes every muscle tense up. At least for a moment, all I would want is to cling to what warmth I have left, to not have to thrash against the unforgiving waters. That first movement would be very uncomfortable. If I didn't move, though, I would die. The waters would consume me and destroy every bit of warmth I had. I said a moment ago that I hadn't experienced that bitter cold, but in a way, I very much had. The moment you don't try to fight those waters is the moment they consume you. I tried to balance on the edge of choice for too long. The truth is, choices that you don't make will eventually be made for you.
A matter of months is all it takes to kill faith simply by not trying. It's only by God's mercy and grace that I'm not dead, and I mean that both ways.
So the question is this: what are those icy waters consisting of?
These waters consist of a cool May breeze and the falling leaves of November. The afterthoughts of many a dark place, and the confusing cycle of redemption and dismay.
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Though You slay me, yet I will trust You
Non-FictionThis is a journal-like, subjective account of my experiences in the Church, mostly of the charismatic branch and the hurt caused by it. These entries are full of pain, but also an undercurrent of hope. Verging on deconstructionism, life crises, and...
