In My Feelings or in My Truth?

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Dusty boots and crooked legs.

I’ve been condemned to such disillusionment. I am not strong like my mother. 

My mother is a tongue I cannot speak. 

My mother is a delicacy I cannot swallow and a reservoir that flows from an endless stream. 

She’s been drugged with strength and dignity - strength and dignity. But I am not so. I’ve lost my way to Hope. It's dark and misty in my heart. Help me, moon! Help me, Son! Help me overcome the dread that awaits my soul at noonday. I’m pretty but crippled. Pretty crippled. The cult of discouragement has lured me into despair. FALLEN to my knees. I’ve lost my life in You. I am a mess- a failure of sorts. 

But still, Your heart is kind and Your song rustles through the anxiety in my breath.

Dusty boots and crooked crosses beheld redeeming blood. Crooked crosses straighten crooked legs - and crooked hearts. The crown of thrones has now become my horn. Hope sprung from the dead and proclaimed, 'He is not here, He has risen!' 

Risen!

Alas!

I am no longer a prisoner of shame but now a patriarch for the Gospel.