The Struggle Inside
A Battle Wages Between Faith and Fear

There’s a struggle that goes on between what I want to think and what creeps into my heart when my world is silent.
Sometimes the sentry of my heart is exhausted and closes his eyes, just for a moment, long enough for the evil one to poke in a tentacle of fear or doubt.
Most of the time I can rip that tentacle apart, chewing it off with God’s faithful promises.
But not always.
I find tears breaking out of their dark, suppressed prison walls at the craziest opportunities.
I gave up on fighting them.
I want them. I need them.
I’m not strong, not alone.
I have to remind myself of that.
My strength won’t come from within me but through Him.
I know that yet have to remind myself over and over again.
I can’t always succeed.
It falls upon me like a dark heavy cloud that slowly sinks into the skyline.
Not like a darkened hood was thrown over the captors’ head, no, not suddenly.
That would be okay. I would recognize it immediately and fight.
No, it’s more like a morphine drip.
I don’t even realize I’m counting backward from 100 before the surgery and I slip into unconsciousness.
There’s a struggle that goes on between knowing and doing.
Between fear and faith.
Light and darkness.
I have chosen not to run from the battle.
I will fight, but not alone, because when I fall, and I will fall again and again and again.
I need to be picked up.
There’s a struggle between believing God will continually be with me as before and fearing that he will finally shake away the dust that I am.
I know what’s right.
My heart should be steadfast.
It’s not.
There’s a struggle.






