What do you call a hope that hangs on by a thread; that remains expectant when your heart feels numb and dead?
What do you call the courage you have to share your painful song? For others, to then, get intimidated, turned off by it, or tell you what you’re feeling is wrong?
What do you call the isolation you feel when nobody understands what you’re going through? And you wonder how you’ll have the energy to share the details, yet again, to someone new?
What do you call that place in your heart needing deep repair? From the dreams of a life you thought you’d have, but instead, you find despair?
What do you call the endless mornings and nights on your knees asking the Lord to make things new? But you find yourself, each new day, holding on to that hope by a thread, and it’s all that gets you through.
What do you call the friends and family you’ve lost because they can’t hold you in your pain? When their advice falls flat, or they don’t want to hear anymore, or they go silent, again and again?
What do you call the strength you receive to make it one more day? When you’re not sure you have any left in you and there are no more words to pray?
What do you call the the feelings you have when others tell you to just rest in the Lord, seek his goodness and He will make it right? But they don’t know how long you’ve poured your heart out to him, and how you’ve already handed over your fight.