​109. To Sew These Strands

I’ve already cried this morning.

And I’ve been writing.

Cry-writing. I’m no stranger to it.

I didn’t think this through. It happened last time I wrote a novel. The attacks. Satan can be so fierce, but at least I can call it what it is.

At least I know what happens to him in the end.

I was watching an interview with John MacArthur and he was talking about how once we submit to Jesus and the closer we are in our walk with Him, the worse we sometimes feel because we truly understand the unbearable weight of sin. We know wholeheartedly His grace, his love for us, our own salvation through His death on the cross, but we also have seen behind the curtain.

We’ve seen the evil without its lipstick on.

And sometimes, instead of sounding the alarm, there’s this overbearing weakening in our knees and the overwhelming need to cry.

Hence, this morning.

But I won’t stop there.

I know now the remedy: prayer. I am a guilty sinner but He is a forgiving God. And I know my purpose is to write this book, a story crafted from the bits and pieces He’s placed in my heart.

And if I succumb to the weight of this world’s sin, I’m putting myself in the shoes of my God, and how dare I.

It has already been won. It has already been finished.

So now to sew these strands of words with my eyes and face bone dry.