Is it always this bad?
This: my heart.
Does the speed of life, the constant movement, prevent me from seeing, with open eyes, the wretchedness which this Holy Week — the Giant Pause — now lays bare?
A look. A word. A thought — o! the thoughts! — betrays my lack for what it is.
And slowly, surely, I am laid low.
I’m stirring the onions, breathing deeply, wondering at my sadness of soul. (My mind is slow to catch onto the truth which my heart instantly grasps.)
And I think I need the Cross. I find words that will say what I need to hear, need to confess, need to wash over me.
Days of struggling, of being disappointed with self, of grasping for love and truth and righteousness — this exhaustion falls away as I weep.
Here, in my kitchen, with my onions and baby monitor, I cry to borrow language — language that will thank this Dearest Friend.
My heart. My wretchedness. My empty attempts at perfection. My soul’s anguish. They are rags; I accept Your righteousness.
o sacred head
O sacred Head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown:
how pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once was bright as morn!
What thou, my Lord, has suffered
was all for sinners’ gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
‘Tis I deserve thy place;
look on me with thy favor,
vouchsafe to me thy grace.
What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
O make me thine forever;
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love for thee.
Amen! I have discovered through the years that I can not do it. It’s coming to that place where we lift our eyes to heaven and confess “I can not do it, Lord. But, YOU can!” I find myself frequently confessing this before the Lord because it’s a truth I need ingrained within me. We all need to come to this place of “decreasing so that He may increase” as John the Baptist so rightly proclaimed. And if we think we can do it and make ourselves perfect then we’ve fallen into the sin of pride which is oh so easy to do. My prayer is that the Holy Spirit will flow life from the true vine, Jesus, through me and produce fruit in my life. Because let’s face it, I can’t produce fruit in my life. Only as I yield and surrender to Him will the Holy Spirit take control and produce fruit in my life. I am nothing and He is everything.
Thanks, Danica for this reminder!
I am so there with you … whenever I get a few moments quiet enough to think – or stop thinking, rather.