Tuesday, 4 September 2012


All my longings lie open before you, O Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you. (Psalm 38:9)

I have seen a little of the terrible beauty and vastness of God. Is this why I am so unsatisfied by the dimness and wretchedness of my own soul? I am so utterly tired of the smallness I find within myself: it hems me in on every side. Where shall I run from myself? With what do I clothe a nakedness of soul? 

I am weary of my own frantic scratching and scrabbling. I long to fly free. I long to love God as he meant me to love him. I long to see things in a right perspective. I long for Jesus to come across the water-filled gap, like he did to the man living among tombs in the land of the Gadarenes, and give me peace from the inside out. I long for his great Mother-heart to come in pity and soothe the fitful child that cries and writhes within me. I long for rest.

How long, O Lord? How long?

You hear, O LORD, the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry. (Psalm 10:17)

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