These tears I cry are not my own. They come, mostly univited, from a deep source that breeds confusion and lies. They come from many roads, and choose me as their rest stop. Sometimes they relieve and other times they exhaust, but after they have spent their time exploring my soul, they are sent to a higher place where they are collected, in the form of a plee for mercy-
Mercy that beckons to heal, restore, and conquer. Fear, I have found, is not blood related to success; and the past is not an exuse to prevent the future from becoming the present. It takes time and clarity of vision to recognize when we are immobilized by our own minds. Once we are able to see the truth of our situations, we are empowered to fight on the grounds of fact vs. fiction. The voices that echo disturbances are plenty, but the voice of reason leads to immortality. I so often find myself wrestling one or both sides of the story. I am not my own but His who made me. He leads me down the path of righteousness for His name's sake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil. His rod and staff shall comfort me. I pray for strength because on my own, I am weak.