Hit

Joy came in the morning as per usual. It came after quiet time. Prayer is so powerful. I became so joyous and full and excited. It carried several hours into the day; I blew through my studying time (although how much I actually accomplished is still laughable. Material just doesn’t stick in my head). By the time Julian made his way over, I had already studied three hours.

My worship playlist plays on the mini bose for a total of five hours and I’m happily drumming along to the songs. Joy is still there. Joy is there and I am amazed and I feel on fire. I am victorious as He told me in prayer. I start to rejoice over the scars I have accumulated over the time I’ve been a Christian. Wounds and mends I want to show the world; “This is how I was hurt and this is how Jesus healed me.”

It hits around 2pm, when my mind becomes tired from doing so many practice problems. It hits and I panic; I flip open my bible and start reading Isaiah. Isaiah 1:5-6 hits me hard and the feeling goes away.

It hits again later. I read Isaiah 2. It doesn’t work as well as the first time; I give up on studying. My head goes into my hands; I think Elijah thinks I am frustrated at studying but I just need a proper face plant to shake the feeling off.

When the two of them leave [I don’t want them to leave; I don’t want to be alone] the sun has already set and with the light goes my steadfast resolution to remain strong. Every time the night comes, that’s when I start failing.

In my most heartbroken times, I do draw close to the Lord, but I don’t think it’s necessarily for comfort. It’s in frustration, questioning, doubt, bitterness. I beat my fists on His chest and cry. “How do you deal with the pain, though?” I ask Him. Yes, there is hope, there is joy, there is growth, and there is healing in Jesus Christ. But, even healing hurts. I know it will pass, I know it will pass, I know it will pass and I will come out better. I know You will restore me. But, until then, how do I deal with the pain? Just how do I deal with it? How?

I hit six hours of studying today (my unconvincing earthly goal of the day; I’m surprised I even accomplished it) after Matt texts me asking if he can come over to study. I did it. I did it. I feel slightly victorious still.

I don’t handle being alone very well anymore. I want to run crying to someone. I want them to hug me and comfort me. I want Vivian here. I want Tiffany here. I want to be able to go to the boys apartment and bawl and have them take care of me. I want to hug Enoch out of nowhere; I want to cry to him like Vivian says she does. But still, there is a part of me that comes up with reasons not to go, a part of me that insists that it’s not right to go to them for help, a part of me that arrogantly thinks I can do this on my own.

I want Jesus to hold my hand again.

I’m determined to be obedient. I’m determined to be hurt. I’m determined to please the Lord. I’m going to grow. He’s going to grow me. He will restore me.

I don’t think I’m okay. But, I will be.

I’m never going to forget that God is good.

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