Let your roots grow into Him, and let your lives be built on Him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness. Colossians 2:7

Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water

I can’t draw a full breath.

I’m living on stale oxygen, sucking in air before I go under again.

I’ve been drowning. Rain has fallen so hard and for so long that I’m flat worn out from dog-paddling. I’ve swallowed salt water from my own tears and have cried out for mercy, for a lifeline, for someone to hear the desperate pleas.

They’ve been muffled by the sound of the waves and I sink further, lower, deeper.

I write about belonging and the truth is, I didn’t write it for anyone but myself.

Because I feel like I don’t. And so I write what I would want to hear, what I need to hear, and I tell myself that if the lies are gonna pour down then the Truth is gonna have to rain down, too.


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Darkness has come and attacked. The winds are mighty and strong. I long for quiet and rest but they push me down and under and I am tossing, turning, churning.

He knows it because I’ve told Him so – If life is a flower bed then the truth is I love the gardner but I don’t always love the garden.

I’m bent over with petals flat on the ground as the gardening hose drenches day after day and I am a sopping wet mess.

But the roots are growing deeper. The darkness hasn’t disappeared and the water is still pouring but I see the sun peaking out.

I will bloom where I am planted and the rain will strengthen the roots.

Sometimes you hit publish when the words don’t make any sense at all. This is one of those times, and truly all I can ask for is grace. Grace for the messy, grace for the true, and grace for the fact that although everything is fine – I am not. I’m learning daily – sometimes hourly – how to combat the darkness and I although I don’t have the answers, I do know the Answer. So I dig in and of this I am sure: His Word is a life preserver.

We gather. Fast and in five minutes, with sisters and lots of delicious. Every Friday the prompt goes up at Lisa-Jo Baker’s and #fmfparty slows down. We write. We breathe out our hearts, sharing the hurts and the joys and splitting hearts and words wide open.