So I am struggling. I am fragile as well. 50. Seems like an okay number but it gets bigger somehow when I am struggling, when I am fragile. I got on a scale and saw a number I never thought I would see outside of pregnancy. It has loomed large on my mind since Monday. "How did you let this happen?" "What were you thinking?" "Have you NO self-control?" "What is the matter with you?" On and on the enemy chants, screams, bellows these thoughts. I am fragile. My knees are fragile, my back is now fragile. "Just get over it" "No pain, no gain" "I WILL move through the pain" These words are crashing through my brain like a dark, ugly, fierce, stronger-than-anything wave of darkness and pain. "Fragility is a gift" I am told by a friend. "Don't waste your pain" I am told by another. I want to medicate and escape. Then the still small voice, the voice I know is The Sustainer, The Savior, The Redeemer breaks the voices and clamor and clanging and says "Peace, be still" He has come for me. He has rescued, redeemed, renewed me. I will struggle again. I will become more fragile. He has overcome that for me.
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