Unless I lose my life, I'll never find it.
Unless my wheat dies, it will never be a harvest.
For as long as I can remember, I have looked to the Bible and to church to learn a better way to live. But now I'm asking for a better way to die.
For years I have battled certain things in my life.
I have battled an arrogant impatience with people who simply do not understand well enough or do not perform well enough. "Well enough" for what, I don't know. Who am I to tell them the pace they are to live or grow? All I know is my patience is lacking and my harshness is abundant, and it makes me far more ashamed than I care to say.
I have daily battled the voices in my head that remind me of every single mistake I've made in a day and all the reasons why no one would love me, want to be near me, and want to be my friend and certainly never want to be my husband.
I have daily battled the reality that if I am put on a scale, my failures far outweigh my victories.
I have daily battled the black hole that pulls at me telling me the world would be better and I wouldn't look stupid if I were to just be silent and unseen.
I have prayed against, repented, cast out, released, rebuked, taken my thoughts captive, thought on things true/noble/right/perfect/lovely/admirable/excellent/praiseworthy, cut soul ties, broken curses, and..and...and...Been prayed over. Anointed with oil. Prophesied over. Listened to teachings. Read umpteen books on how to be a better Christian and live a better life, but the battle still rages, and I am weary.
And this morning I am pondering. Maybe the answer isn't in finding a better way to live. Maybe the answer is in finding a better way to die.
Copyright 2014 Jerri Kelley Phillips
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