It's been weeks now since the last tears fell.
The days surge forward relentlessly. Keep paddling, keep treading the water, else be pulled down by the current ...? I'm barely making it, I know.
Or am I just being dramatic? This was hard to expect, hard to prepare for, hard even to really apprehend it and stare it in its face.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
I must be missing something here. How long till the end? How long till light? Is this, now, the kingdom of heaven, too? Teach me, Lord. I need to understand.

In the darkest night of the soul, who is there for me? This question near taunts me, and threatens to obscure what I have always preached and believed - Jesus is there, Jesus is the hope, him alone, the anchor for our souls. Even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, your rod and staff, they comfort me. The Lord is my shepherd, the Lord is my shepherd. But I am also just trying to be honest. Honest about the reality of my brokenness and my weakness. Honest about my heart's longing and seeking and pining.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.