Life spins and moves—pausing for no one. It does not slow down nor wait for me to understand its intricacies. Pain, joy, confusion assail, as I cling to the unraveling threads of this spinning sphere.
Desperate, I cry out to God as weakened fingers lose hold. I need strength, wisdom, peace. I call to Him, yet cling to a fragile thread—not even a braided cord—a mere hairsbreadth of fiber that delays my inevitable plummet.
Only when I begin to fall do I grab hold of the ever-outstretched hand of God. He allows me to descend a way, until I am sure it is His help I want. He saves me from my fears.
Such difficult lessons. I cling tightly to God—but only until another fragile thread presents itself. Something I can see and touch to replace the invisible. And the lesson begins again.
How I want to snip all those loose, enticing threads—but where have I lain the scissors?

 


—excerpt from Cross My Heart and Hope to Die 


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