His blood saved me six years ago today and it is still sanctifying me. It is still relevant. It is still active.
It is still changing lives. I testify to that.
And, as I wait to see where the next step falls, I fear the not knowing. I fear not being in control. I fear not being able to go home again. To be naive. To find that the desires of my heart are altered and what I desire now will never come to fruition.
“Be soft and pliable to the most high covenant God and He will answer our petitions for wisdom and understanding.” -Psalm 37:4
That’s all I desire: wisdom and understanding. Especially understanding.
But I do not receive because I do not ask. I fear asking for what I know I do not deserve, thinking that I can never receive.
At the end of the day, though, I’m faced with the question of where I find my security. I remember times when it was obviously in the home where I grew up. I used to listen to my dad playing guitar downstairs and watch the nighttime sky light up with bolts of lightning in the summer.
The past few years, however, I continue to find that I can’t go home. As much as I want to just crawl into my old bed and have time stop, I can’t. My security is no longer in the home of my childhood.
My security is to be found in Jesus’ blood alone. He is my freedom.
Jesus’ blood never fails me. Heaven is my home.
Mood: Broken Listening to: Delirious?, Mezzamorphis (UK)