Not just the season of the year, but the season of my life. There’s a cold desolation that’s been eating away at me for a long time. I’m not sure if I can attribute it to any particular circumstance, event, or situation, but it tears at my heart nonetheless.
And I find no balm.
Cold. Empty. Desolate. Dry. I find myself attempting to satiate my search for warmth in anything that gives off temporal heat. But I cannot find satisfaction.
And I remember the fire that once burned inside me. The passion with which I burned and the flames that swirled within my soul.
The fire of God’s Spirit searing its way through every fiber of my being.
But after circumstances changed, I began to feel a lack of power. And the lack of power began to feel like helplessness. And the helplessness began to feel like desolation.
But the Spirit hadn’t left me. He was trying to show me something about himself.
That he cares.
Christ called him the Comforter. And I’ve certainly needed comforting.
And tonight, when I feel most alone and confounded, he’s here, whispering in my ear, telling me to “cast all [my] anxiety on him because he cares for [me].”
Maybe soon I’ll feel him empowering me again, using me to accomplish magnificent things for his kingdom.
But for now I just need to rest in the knowledge that he’s my Comforter, quietly salving my intangible pain.