Stiff. My heart has hardened in a rough wreck of mud that coats its flesh with a foul and futile grasp. Air to pump to the integral parts of me is paved, and each inhale is one less tick of time. Why this overgrowth now? Why this crimp of circulation tangling me like a black, brooding vapor?
My feet slip and I sink in the mire. There is no way around, no transportation that will take me high above to safety. I am trekking this course on my own and cannot lose my way. I cannot lift another thought unless it assail me and strike my mind. One step further and my legs will shatter; I will be broken into tiny porcelain pieces.
I don’t understand how I’ve come to fall so far from where I once stood. But the rains dig in, drenching my brittle hope that so newly sprouted. I am moving down this mountain and You are quiet and cavalier at my retrieval.
You have to lift me up when my heart hangs heavy. I am anchored, full of lead and trudging slowly up the hill I climb. You have to wield Yourself as compass and turn me true North, lead me from the rubble and into crisp air. Bring me to steady heartbeats, swift slight of foot and crack open my chest to revive me. Wipe away the clay that’s caked around my heart.
Take my hand and help me through. My bones are worn and my spirit aches. And if my hand cannot fit Your grasp, lift me in Your arms and sweep me away to where I can breathe once again.
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