Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me.
I need You to be real with me.
I cannot take the stale air I am choking down, force-fed the way of ideology in Your name. Call me a non-conformist, call me stubborn, rebellious, whatever fits, but I am tired of others telling me who You are and how I should behave with You.
I have to see it for myself.
I have to touch the skin of Your hand.
No more muted conversation or half-lingering listening. No more putting words in my mouth I’m ready to spit back out. The rules I am told to follow in the freedom emanating from You pierces fickle in my soul, pairs hollow with whitewash, where I know by how I feel, that something is amiss.
My heart is off and it terrifies me. What I run through each day is rote, not enough. You have to show up and strike the coals of my fire how I need to be stoked. You must be honest and vivid, crack and burst before me because I cannot have You lined up straight-edged and stagnant.
You are not the God others tell me You are, You are not the God of my organization, You are not the God that has grown stale within me. Show me who You are when You break out of the box we’ve all put You in, watered down and tasteless.
I want You. Take away every distraction and opinion and supped “how to” on having a relationship with You, and speak for Yourself into my ear. I am tearing at the seams and only You can stitch me back, with color and thread puncturing my skin to test my sensors, make certain I still feel.
Raise me to life. I am suffocating and it is You, full and fantastic, who will revive me, resurrect my faith. Fashion me with Your design, dare me to find You, to draw near so You can show me how You’re already well inside me.
All the voices I hear, the words I speak, static mantras mentioned over and over and over—they fall heavy like bricks. They do not mean a thing, unless I am shocked in soul by You.
Come to me. No more games. No more assembly line. Give me the original. Give me who You are when I turn off the noise and peal myself away from monotonous religion.
It is my life on the line, my constricting heart, daring to beat again.
You had better give me something, because I am desperate to discover You. Deep flesh, freshly divine.
Show me exactly who You need to be for me. Show me exactly who You are so I can see. This kicking heart won’t accept anything less.
Please, be real with me as my heart craves. As a restoring promise, to charge and spark my life again.
Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me. -Psalm 54:4
How does God sustain me?
Am I confident that He delights in helping me when I am in need?
God, what are You saying to me through this verse?
Who are You, as I need to see? Surely You are my help, my focus, my sustenance. Over and over, I get tied up in lies and twisted reality, where I make false facts about myself and the smallness of You. I shut You down, box You in, leave my heart dry and empty. This will not do. Revive me, help me to recognize You, and bring a realness to my heart that it has been craving but has yet to receive. Show me who You are. Amen.
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