Where do I begin?
My emotions pouring out faster than my hand can pen out.
How did we get here? And why did this happen?
And will I be forced to live with failure...
Church. My second home.
The one I've grown up in; the only one I know.
And to see it going this way...
But you see, this is not the result of trauma or a sudden conflict. It has been a gradual enemy tearing us down.
Unlike the others, I haven't been blind.
I've been praying all along. For help. For strength. For a change in hearts. For revival.
And now when I go to God with a broken heart, I am speechless. Because I've nothing more to say.
I feel overwhelmed. powerless. helpless. weak. afraid.
But I can not seem to make myself give up.
I will continue to go to my Father even if when I open my mouth out of pain, no words come out.
I will rely on Him when my faith for change is running dry.
I've done all I can see to do that my poor, weak body is capable of.
And what are the results?
None.
Without any pride involved, I cannot yet leave.
For in the humblest way, I feel I give and give until I can give no more.
But I will find a way to push myself a step further, while I die from starvation.
Yes. The place I should go to be filled leaves me empty, hungry, desperate.
But I will not go because I refuse to lose hope when this place belongs to the Almighty Creator.
Overwhelmed. Burdened. Exhausted.
I will not give up. I will continue to reach my hands out in desperation.
For my God saves, heals, renews, and restores.
I plead for others to join me in this rebellion from ignorance.
But I am left alone.
I cry for help for others to give and serve.
But I am left alone.
I scream for anyone to hear me and acknowledge this tragedy.
But they turn away.
I am left alone.
And from the depths of my heart, I fight the urge to join the crowd and walk away.
What an easy path to take...
To be blind to it all; I refuse.
Somehow, I pray God will use me to turn it all around: my helpless, insignificant, with-little-to-offer self.
I will give all I have. and then some.
Because this is not just my childhood, or a tradition, or my pride.
This is the my Father's house. To reach out to the lost.
And if it dies, what will remain besides ashes and souls looking for a savior?
Even when they turn their backs, when they choose ignorance, when they call me crazy:
I will pray for a change in the collective heart in this 'body of Christ'.
Even if I stand alone.
Even if I cry alone.
My God will wipe away my tears.
So this is me.
My burden. My heart.
And with God as the only source of strength within me, when every soul has turned their back to my desperation, I will stand though none stand with me.
