Posts Tagged At His Feet
Lord, here I am at your feet…again. I am disappointed, awash with regret. The old overtakes the new just when I least expect it. Old patterns, old voices…all the things I gladly left behind. I feel defeated when I fail even though Your word says otherwise. Oh, please forgive me.
My insecurities obscure truth like cobwebs over treasures in an attic. The treasure is there, at least I want to believe it is, but how will it ever be revealed so long as I wallow in this perpetual state of desperation? I want to be well; I want to be healed, if I could just be closer to You.
I am tired of being manipulated by unhealed hurts, the fear of pain’s return. Is there some secret to filling the void and keeping my soul at peace when the temporal seems to overwhelm the eternal? I’ve been here before; I thought I was done dealing with this. How do I draw close enough to You that the rest melts away? What can I do or say to manifest Your presence more in my life?
Child, your questions were answered in “Lord, here I am at your feet”. It is the best place you can be, not your last resort.
Not sure what it is about revelation coming in the bathroom, but I could hardly shower fast enough as this conversation played out in my head and heart, wanting to write it down before it vanished like the water at the drain. It was as though the Lord dropped this in my spirit as a follow-up to the scripture we read last night in Mark 6:55-56 They ran through that whole region and carried the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went—into villages, towns or countryside—they placed the sick in the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch even the edge of his cloak, and all who touched him were healed.
I could not help but think about those that pursued him for healing vs. those that must have remained at the city gate, resolved to remain as they were. Healing has never just happened in my life, it has always manifested through pursuit. At times, it has felt like I’ve traversed vast regions to touch the hem of his garment, other times it was but a breath away. I do not understand the paradox of its timing, only that it takes place at His feet.