Waiting in darkness while hell visits

I write some of my best stuff when I don’t know what I’m going to write. Fifty thousand things swirling in this storm of a brain, no way to get it to shut up but to pour it out on a page and find out what it is.
An exploration of contents that have no value or meaning.
Or so I hear.
I live in terror of responsibility, of having something of value to share and thus being responsible for sharing or not sharing it, and knowing that the only way to share it is to give up my own freedom and to work.
This is the way of good deeds, to murder the self in order to become bread for others.
The operative phrase in scripture is broken bread and poured out wine. It is not a fun concept.
I’m in a debate with God, asking, begging Him to assure me of why it is worth loving my brother…
and my enemy…
rather than myself.
I’m not sure He’s winning at any given moment. I feel hateful and angry and selfish and, with that, all kinds of unworthy and dirty and filthy and evil,
every second of every day,
and it makes me want to care about one person and one person only.
Love truly does engender more love, and condemnation begets self-protection.
Only the Cross disarms sin and empowers a sinful man to follow in God’s ways rather than his own, because only the Cross is an assurance of love that allows for no place that one might run to and be forgotten.
Certain that you are in hell, and God can never find you?
Well, Jesus went there, too, and took your place already. There is no place from which he cannot rescue, and no extent of sin that can separate from him.
He has bourne it all.
The only way to have hell now is to ignore His outstretched hand and tell Him you’re staying.
And do it until you die.
But sometimes hell comes to us, even though we’ve left it behind, and the seasons come and go and the pleas, begging and screams that come to form our prayers rise to the skies without answer,
and only the bleeding lamb and the hopeless darkness of Psalm 88 declares to us the truth that God is still present,
that when Christ says,
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
it was so that we could not,
because He has taken our place there too,
in the festering and hollow darkness where believing Job waits,
before God comes on the storm and sets Job free from his own selfish pain with the revelation of God’s own presence and power.
This then is the only answer to all pain and suffering,
That God is and is close,
And the only route to surviving it is to believe
that He who died and yet lives,
yet lives in us,
Even when the darkness cries that it is not so.
Do this and He will come. Do that and He will come. He will come when you are worthy.
He is already here, and I will see that when I believe it,
more than I believe you.
I do believe, Oh Lord.
I do believe.
Please help my unbelief.


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