I'm a bag of failure heaped on top of a mountain of success.
Abba carries me.
I don't carry myself.
Nor do I carry Abba.
I'm a bag of failure heaped on top of a mountain of success.
Intimacy at its finest. my brokenness.
I don't want to move out of my own accord or choose to move, or even consider my movements valid.
because if I do, I'll start to think it's good, when in reality it's reaping death unto myself.
confidence in my flesh brings me death. necrotic death.
its stench is that of dung, manure, whatever you will call a 'vomit inducing' stench.
it's abominable, repulsive...
to be honest, i abhor my confidence in my flesh that i would call it an expletive
I want to only follow 1 voice.
Only 1.
There's only joy in this 1 voice.
Abba.
The One who loves me and knows me best.
The Consuming Fire that kills my necrotic heart, and gives me a new one.
Brand me, Jesus.
