Is your bridge being built, are your hands being filled?

The past few months, I haven’t had the heart to type a word or the strength to induce thought over where I have let Satan lead my heart. I guess I figured that if I let go of the pride I really would have nothing left of me. So if nothing is what I have, I suppose I have lot of room in these weary hands of mine to collect the whispers of hope I have read about, heard about, even spoke about. 

“Is your bridge being built, are your hands being filled?”. I hum along to pretty sound waves in quiet suffering, knowing to the very edge of my being, I have been robbed. By  me, or him, or satan himself,  I’m not exactly sure, but my hopes and my belief in myself had been abraded into this complacent wall that lackadaisically mocks my Eden, vexing this paradise the Lord has handcrafted in my heart, a paradise of fulfillment and joy and complete belief in my own extravagant purpose. I have disposed my worth, I have sat and watched as I allowed one dream’s disappointment to engulf every part of me in flames.

So; what would you call this place? Lost, wilderness, desert land maybe?

I awake defeated before a fight that was never supposed to be fought, that I distinctly told myself I would never fight. The guarded heart is a funny thing. It can be easily guarded ’til you think you found someone who needs no defenses, or maybe even want that person so much that you dismiss danger altogether. 

Most recently I sat down with family, discussing college, mission trips, my future, things of that nature. We sat in my uncle’s kitchen, questions flying, meekly trying to answer them, my heart, shallow,  only capable of describing the dreams for myself I used to think so possible, desperately gasping for the sight of what once colored my life so exquisitely. Conversation furthered and the very soul of me collapsed. I had let the Lord’s dreams drain out of me as if they were the runoff of my own selfish desires, as if they mean nothing. 

My heart was silenced, and my soul was speechless.

And then…. favor.

My uncle saved me that night. With eyes fuller than I thought possible, he looked at me like I was this earth’s last, tender, most promising hope. He saw me as I am.

He reignited a work I had thought was squeezed of its breath by my own hands. He saw my dreams when I couldn’t see them, and ultimately; he delivered Jesus.

I have been raised from the dust, when I was indistinguishable from it. I have raised my hands to my eyes only to understand the emptiness I was responsible of.

Today I rejoice in the Lord’s faithfulness to come to me when I would not come to Him, pursuing my dreams, showing me how real and wonderful they are. It is my fervent prayer that He would instill a steadfast, unceasing, tireless urgency in me to chase these visions, running along the lineage of His Kingdom til my last breath. Lord capture my heart in that moment, recraft my tarnished lungs to desire your air; the air which tastes of the heavenly belief you place in each of your children. Be the air supply, help me to cleave to a heartsong so precious.


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