Living Off of the Battlefield
Feeling like I have spiritual PTSD.
I guess that's what happens when you live from one battle to the next.
All the time between spent too paranoid to rest; just waiting for a new foe to rear its head.
I have built my walls so tall and thick in fear of intruders, so the sound of a small knock at the door was almost forgin to my ears.
It turns out satey puts me more on edge then my usual chaos.
Continually glancing over my shoulder expecting something to have snuck up on me.
I wish I didn't flinch away from gentle touches of comfort, as though licking my wonds alone is the only way to mend them.
Although it freely gives them, my body can't seem to take in compliments or kindness.
I recoil from encouragement, my mind readily listing all the things that make me unqualified for such praise.
It has come to my attention that I am not used to accepting forgiveness without a small reprimand or warning attached.
So how have I been such a stranger to gentleness when it is one of your defining characteristics.
You have forgave all I have ever done out of a triumphant unmeasurable love and that was it.
You never attached any strings oh but you stired my soul to want you insatiably.
You made me realize I have sat in the safety of your arms this whole time, fighting against the ghosts of enemies you vanquished long ago that I just couldn't give up.
You quieted the cruel self evaluation always going in my head; now I hear your steady voice remind me who I am.
A daughter of the King.
A child of Christ.
A sinner redeemed.
An agent of mercy.
A comforter of the hurt.
A lover of the broken.
A seeker of the lost.
A lighthouse for you to shine from.
A mouth piece willing to be used.