Rabid butterflies fight in my stomach
I breathe slowly—willing them to calm
Why must flesh and Spirit compete?
“New season!” Many say
“New Questions” I respond.
Does this mean my faith is weak?
With a furrowed brow at eye
Quiet sigh on my lips
Heart twists ever so slightly
Skepticism a curse I stubbornly embrace
Direction I stumble after
Inaction I battle silently
If I were to scream at the top of my lungs—
The noise would only get lost in the clamor of opinions
The pain in my head a result of an unhealthy diet of sarcasm
Head bowed low
Soul laid bare
I focus to hear the Lion’s roar
Uncertainties eclipsed by promises
She pauses and smiles at the thought
“He will quiet you by His Love”
The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing. - Zephaniah 3:17
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