Storm

Tired of the fight, tired of the battle.

These people scrape wounds I forgot I had, they touch deeply embedded thorns that were forgotten. Lord, you are calling me. You are asking me to come into your presence. Weary, heavy laden. You give rest. You, the healer of the broken, sustainer of the weak, lover of souls. You, abba call me in this darkness, this storm.

I've begged, I've cried, I've shouted. I hate this storm..... but if it means more of you Abba. It's worth it.

"My child, ask not for the storm to be calmed, but to find me in the storm."

-I found this scribbled from a while back....-nat