rebellion is never as fun in real life as it sounds like it will be.
we haven't hurt god like we planned to; we've only strangled our own souls.
it is easy to imagine a shepardly figure bending over, his robes falling down his arm and over my face, his hands rough and strong gripping my own, his arms tensing, the pulling up, my head, elbows, then toes emerge into daylight and then he wraps me close in this nearly suffocating hug and everything is warm again--the cold leaves my bones and i weep tears of gratitude and pure pleasure as we walk hand in hand away from that horrid hole in the soil.
a million times, that has been my story. in so many ways. and every night i crawl in bed hoping that after i close my eyes and lift some thoughts of repentance heavenward, i will feel all that happening again.
it hasn't; and i am waiting.
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