There are days that turn into seasons sometimes. Seasons that I wonder if it’s real. This abundant life I admire in others, strive for in myself, and read about as Truth. These days feel low and hollow, like I am deep within the earth. And with every peak above the dirt I wander if it’s just for them.
I see others walking in it. Filled with hope and peace and grace. But it seems so out of reach, so I strive just a little higher. Climbing up that hill of dirt trying to get out. The rain falls and then the snow. But there I am still climbing.
I shame myself for trying. I know it’s in the abiding, but for some reason the abiding takes more than the striving. So I just continue with what I know.
It can’t be a secret. Each morning His words are there waiting. Each morning offering the same. An abundant life in His rest.
But for some reason I still keep striving.
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