You have always given me
just a little more than I can withstand,
leaving me broken. You know
that I carry each failure
like an aching wound.
These are not garments
I can shed to take on the new.
I am red and raw and cannot
imagine surviving another stripe.
But You have known me
from before I was anything at all.
Only You can heal me
Only You can make me whole.
Oh, Lord, let this be something
I can do.
I have no idea what leading I was resisting, or when I wrote this, except that it probably involved crying the the shower, given some of the scribbles on the same page.
I am so thankful to be far from the place I was in when I wrote that, even if I was there only a few weeks ago.