In the morning I will rise
Some mornings rising poses more of a challenge than others. These mornings it is not chiefly a physical fatigue, but rather the internal exhaustion of my mental, emotional, and spiritual capacities.
Yesterday I found myself falling, fearful of the inevitable end. To hit the floor and shatter my porcelain self into a million little pieces. I still feel fragmentary–half of me stuck in free fall, the other half swept neatly into a tray waiting to be repaired.
It’s hard to quantify the struggles that come. This might be the hardest thing I’ve yet faced, but I have more tools than I did ten years ago. Or maybe I’m the same person I was back then, but as a result of seminary and Scripture my sin has been laid bare. An ever-present thorn lest I should boast in myself or my works. I see no way out on my own. A broken vase cannot self-repair. I wait for the hands of Another to find my pieces and paste me toward perfection.