The Hope-Thief

I'm up way too late. I can't sleep, mostly because I'm doing something we're explicitly told in Scripture not to do: worrying.

I'm worrying because it seems to me from my perspective that things are not working out. It seems to me that though God promises to provide for me, He isn't. It seems to me that the only reason I'm alive is that I simply haven't died yet.

And it occurred to me tonight that maybe I should just hurry up and kick off, because God's not using me right now, and all my time is spent trying to make ends meet, and I feel like I don't have time or means to further the Kingdom because I can't afford dinner or fuel.

Whenever I hear sermons about how I need to do more for God's Kingdom, I feel guilty and frustrated because I would love to do more, but I have no chance. I have plenty of time to volunteer somewhere, but can't afford the fuel to drive there. I can barely make it to work and back every day, and anything extra puts me closer to zero.

I feel so abandoned by God. I cry out to Him and try to trust Him, but all I get is silence... or trite recordings of old sermons intended to make me feel compelled to do more.

But I'm done doing. I lose sight of the spiritual because my physical needs are not being met. And then I feel guilty. This is the edge of despair.

I'm looking over this precipice, into the deep abyss, and the abyss isn't even staring back. My hope is reduced to shards that cut me when I try to put them together. Every time I sink deeper, I think it can't possibly get any worse than this. But then it does.

I keep waiting for the falling to stop. To find myself in the arms of Jesus, who bears my burdens and provides for me.

And still I wait.