But He Knows the Way I Take

I was in the bathroom praying (as I often am), crying and irritated because there are spaces in my life that chafe. I have been standing at the precipice of leaving all and starting over for a few years now, pulled back from the edge by unseen forces gently reminding me of responsibilities that, while I didn’t ask for them, I had agreed to them and needed to see them to the end. The last time I almost leaped away from my life, God snatched me back with a heart attack–not mine, but my husband’s–adding more weight to the load I carry of “Things I am now responsible for.” I shouldered that weight in a rage, the unfairness like a kick to the head.

I didn’t want any of this, I often pray. The ability to speak that truth aloud after all these years feels like sucking down a magical elixir from heaven. I never asked for this, Lord. The words stir relief in my belly so full up with sick longing. I didn’t ask for any of this, so why do you let me be hurt?

Some around me think I’m not grateful enough, that I am discontent and never satisfied. And I suppose in so many ways they are right because in this season of my life, I have opened my eyes and realized that I want more than the dregs I’ve settled for. I want the abundant life promised, the double–I mean, I’ve already received the persecutions. I’ve already lived the hell of not good enough-ness, brokenness, needy, cheater, liar, adulterer, amorality, emptiness, and loneliness. I’ve already tread water in the drowning place of physical presence without intimacy because “I’m too deep” or “there’s always something wrong” with me. I want the abundant life set aside for me specifically. I already have lived contented with things not even my fault yet unfailingly my problem. I’ve already been reduced to rubble, dynamited by OPP (lolz; other people’s problems/perceptions/pain/personal traumas). I now want to be satisfied with God for my own life.

So I cry because this ain’t it.

But.

But.

“He knows the way I take…” (~Job).

He knows.

God knows.

The way.

I take.

And the thing that keeps me from dying, the keeps me living without laying down and giving up every ghost is that I know that God knows the way I take. He has known all along. He saw it in eternity. And he made room for me, even now, clean me up until I am as “pure gold”.

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