The pain washes in again, deep scarring pain. Confusion surrounds echoing halls of the no longer peaceful. I hear songs of holding onto God’s promises, but I can’t sing them. I hear that His love is everlasting, but I can’t feel it. I can’t sing and I can’t feel; it seems so desolate. I’m desperate for Him to love me; I’m desperate for healing. I’m desperate to know His heart; I’m desperate. I’ve been on this particular journey so long, and I’m aching-filled with pain. I’m exhausted by my own self-protection. I’m the self-proclaimed righteous who is bound. I want freedom; no longer do these chains appeal to me. Whatever these hard things are that I must go through, I’m willing. No longer will I stay chained. Jesus died for me, even though I don’t understand it. His blood washes over me. He did EVERYTHING; now I AM DONE. Finished. With this life. I am choosing whatever He wants to give to me to free me into new life. What He asks, I will do. If that means giving up certain things I love for periods of time or maybe forever, tearfully, willingly I will do what He asks. I’ve never felt the way I do right now. I’m beginning to understand my need for God. It’s a desperation. I don’t care if I look silly or crazy, but I’m on my knees asking. Hands outstretched, begging like the nothing I am without Him. Reaching for those promises that I keep reading about. If He would ask Hosea to love a prostitute, then He would love me, the broken repeater. If He would heal a woman whom everyone else shamed while He chose to pour love on her in spite of law, then He would love me the dirty idolater. How to accept this love? How to know it? Crying out, “Abba! I need you now!” Crying ragged. Crying broken. Crying pain. Crying anger. Crying ache. Crying fear. Crying longing. And oh, how they tell me He understands.