Call Me Israel
Somehow being at the lowest point in your emotions isn’t low enough to yell at God. Driving alone in my car with KLOVE radio or the sensation of pulsing water over my face in the shower isn’t good enough. They’re one of the few times I’m forced to disconnect from the world and get in touch with God. It’s usually my half asleep mind in my tired body that grounds me to one place and one thought; one prayer. That’s not low enough. The couch is too comfortable as my soul tosses within. So I find myself on the floor, head against the wall. My back straight with the wall and my throat full of heartache, stretched to heaven, wherever it be.
Have you ever yelled at God? It’s not natural. It’s easy to speak from your soul, but the tongue can’t lash such ember embedded words out loud. It’s not natural; it’s not Christian like.
How can a person be so physically strapped down in a valley? How much longer can my body and mind endure the spiritual warfare? This mountain is greater than I and sometimes I doubt his desire to bring me to the top of it.
I’m supposed to desire only to be with Him. I’m supposed to keep seeking him in this dark drought ridden valley, drinking from his fountain and my thirst be quenched enough. That’s not fair. I need a physical touch, a hand to grasp. I want a landing place, a safe holding.
Seek the revelation instead of the reason. I know the revelation. Let Him be all you need, your steadfast. I get it. I hear Him.
I’m not afraid to let Him know of my disappointments, my worries, my anger, and my hurt. He already knows. I’m not afraid to meet Him in my living room, face to face. My knees and elbows pressed against the floor won’t do this time. I need Him to meet me here eye to eye, so I can remind Him He’s loyal and He’s made some big promises.
Lately, I feel like I should be called Jacob. I’m wrestling with such a heavy burden and depression that makes the air so thick it chokes me as I try to take a deep breath and gather myself together.
Call me Israel. I’m not letting God leave this quiet still moment. The only interruption allowed here are my angry burdened words and my heavy tears blackened by mascara. I deserve this blessing He’s promised.
I deserve to move on, comforted by Him, and confident in His promises. I deserve to be fulfilled in other ways than just spiritual needs. I lay depression on this makeshift altar, and I’ll wait here til daybreak for my blessing in exchange for my burdens.
I’ll continue waiting, against this wall, beneath this mountain, in the middle of this deep dark valley. Bitterness on my breath, scars on my heart, shackles on my feet, imprisoned by this spiritual war. Call me Israel.