An invisible weight presses, keeping me from lifting my head many days.
I’m looking down, backing away, shrinking into obscurity, feeling like Naomi, “I went away full, and the LORD has brought me back empty.” (Ruth 1:21)
And in those dark, heavy, brow-furrowed days, I’ve learned to cry out. Lift my head.
There’s something about physically raising your head to the sky.
I think about this Jesus I’ve never seen but love. I remember he promised to come back. I remember he promised he’d never abandon me. I remember the Holy Spirit is committed to making like Jesus. I remember he promised nothing will be in vain. That he’ll redeem everything.
Exhale.
It’s hard down here in the weeds, in the years that feel like ash, blown away somewhere in a world full of memories.
