I struggle with anxiety and depression. At times, it distorts the way I interpret and responds to people and situations. The weight of that brokenness can feel overwhelming, but an obsession for a cure can be even more dangerous. The search for quick fixes and shortcuts leads to deeper wounds. Only God can restore the imperfections that are characteristic of our fallen, sinful nature. We must each wait on His timing and heal at His prescribed pace. He is God. When we are struggling, He is God. When we are weary, He is God. When we are waiting, He is God. He is no less faithful in our trials than He is when He brings us to victory.
I find myself weighed down by words.
as anxieties new and old find life
and burdens increase their hold.
They call themselves truths and freedom is promised
in the shadow of their prison doors;
leading through half-lit halls and deceit.
Their lies prepare a muzzle.
It’s an elusive fight;
shifting fallacies building to new heights.
Lofty expectations of no substance
threaten a terrible descent.
And I am weary.
But there is a voice that calls the weary.
One of grace offering rest.
One of truth offering reprieve.
The voice of the Shepherd, the Savior, the King.
From dazzling heights
to the mires of life to offer a sinless hand.
He calls come, yet He transverses the distance
He says take, yet He carried the yoke.
And in the weariness, I am sustained
by His presence.
I am kept safely in His arms
while waiting.
