I don’t usually post stuff from my journal on the web.  Even my family members know that they are taking a life-threatening risk by touching my journal.  It’s very private.  But this one is supposed to be shared.  Don’t know why, but here it is.

I am broken.

Sifting feels final.  Fatal.

And I feel stuck in the process.

Hopeless.  Useless.

 

But that’s the enemy’s goal.

He wants me immobilized.  Defeated.

It is his goal to strip me

Of both purpose and identity.

 

He will fail.

He has done nothing to shape my identity

So it isn’t his to take.

My true purpose is beyond his power to touch

 

But that knowledge – while precious –

Doesn’t make it less painful

To work without affirmation,

To have my work belittled.

 

But only my Abba

Knows my true name.

The name he gave me;

The identity he is refining.

 

The enemy sifts, hoping to ruin.

Abba allows it, knowing that sifting can refine.

While the enemy seeks my surrender,

Abba seeks to more clearly define my purpose.

 

So I take the next step, one more breath,

And move through the next moment

Knowing this is only a season

That is ultimately for my good.