Rescuer, rescue.

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I close my eyes and the instant spiral of despair grasps me close. These arms are familiar. This chest I rest my head and burrow myself into is an old acquaintance, one who I knew well. Depression has no face, it only has a body that carries and holds close, tightly, so tight there is little room for breath. Is this the road I really want to go down again? My mind is exhausted and my heart is bothered. I can’t watch the slow motion picture before me. It is gruesome, haunting, and dark. I reach my hands up and I scream, to be held back by sincere spectators, but there is no time, the destroyer is destroying. We were told this would happen, but I can’t sit still and accept. I can’t stand tall to conform, to compromise, or to even obey if it goes completely against everything I believe or know to be true. For now, I hide inside this blue hurricane’s tempest and cover my eyes in this familiar shadow’s pain, until my Rescuer does only what He can do.

Image Credit: Goose Girl at Gruchy, by Jean-Francois Millet

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