Cumbered soul.
Oppressed heart.
Bowed back.
She treads forward beneath her weighted cross.
Shuffling. Faltering.
Her body crunches.
Foul muck.
Smeared face.
Weary bones.
Numb relief beckons surrender.
Fat minutes.
Halted time.
Heavy pause.
She cedes defeat sprawled in sludge.
Reassuring Voice.
Shared cross.
Yoked souls.
She rises up to trudge on with Him.
***
Faith is complicated when you're deep in the muck of trauma-healing. It's full of fat minutes with no relief. And time spent sprawled in sludge that reeks of evil and filth.
How coud a kind God allow so much suffering?
And yet, how do I not believe in Him?
So, I rise up, and trudge on.
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