I feel the dew as hope seems to slip through tightly clenched fingers. I stand on this cliff once again with wavering faith. Struggling to believe that God’s welfare for me will occur.
And with tight eyes, I try to shut out the disbelief. When impatience and the weary of waiting rests upon my shoulders I stand here. I feel doubt slipping in where hope slips out.
I seem to lack the faith that God will accomplish that which He see’s fit for me. I believe lies that He will never act. That in this place of desertness I’ll remain.
My hope seems feeble and I peer over this sharp drop and see it failing.
I find my self envious of others green pastures and the goodness and welfare they have received there. And as I toss in my bed, I pull back the strings of my bow and shoot arrows into my heart, reminding myself that love is not jealous. Love is not jealous. Love is not jealous.
In these quiet moments where my mind tends to exhaust itself with thinking, I try to seek out the source of my hope. The one who takes fear and disbelief. Who replenishes my hope like oil in a widow’s jar.
And I breathe truth. Truth which takes disbelief and tosses it over this cliff on which I stand.(Photo Source)