control, I’m not. 

I smell this gardenia,

calm & unassuming after

a fall. Lord, I watched or

I felt my body turn back 

as I went and missed the grip 

for the counter–mom’s voice 

a complete gasp as I hit the floor on my 

side. I don’t know

how You did that. The pain asks

me now to stay with the whiplash my 

head feels. Bring 

more of your comfort won’t you, please? 

The fall reminds me yet again in

fmf: comfort.

I’m not sure if it’s the fact I’ve had a bit of a summer flu this week or when trying to grab the counter with my weaker, I somehow do a twirl and wind up on my side on a carpet that covers part of the hard wood floor (thank you, Jesus), but I really think being still is good. I also find it fascinating that when I fall, i just go down. No words. And then just want to stay there.

Jesus, help me be still. Help me rest in you and wait expectantly for you. Please. I’m tired and my head is like, you need to put the phone down but I need to get this out. Thank you for catching me when I fall and for the carpet even though the pain was still there. Thank you that mom and I can recall lots of other falls I’ve had.  Thank you she was there to help me up and put on sandals so I won’t fall again. Even though you and I both know I’m not getting up any time. Thank you that all the pain brings straight to you. As in when I fall, I immediately apologize for trying to get up and wash my hands. I’m a silly girl who’s still trying to get falling is okay. You’re still going to – want me. You still love me in this broken and my aching body, head will never keep you away. So come to me Jesus. And yes, it’s a little like Ellie’s song, rescue:

It’s like I fell into a hole to deep to climb out//And I looked up to the sky and saw you reaching down/Reaching down

Reach down and rescue me with your comfort, Jesus. I’m not sure if anything would be a comfort right since I’m trying to distract myself from the weird feeling in my head. But thank you for being with me. That’s a comfort even if I can’t physically feel it right now. Okay, stopping. Love you, Jesus.

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4 thoughts on “control, I’m not. 

  1. Hi, Julie. Visiting from FMF.

    It’s a hard thing to accept, the lack of control we have over our own bodies. When I look down at the scars that criss-cross my abdomen, I wonder how I can endure another day. And yet – Jesus is there. He always catches us in the falling.

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