Every morning I wake up with a sense of hopelessness. A pit in my stomach. A paralyzing sense of worry. It takes all my energy to get out of bed and kneel on the floor. I need peace. I need to know that You are in control. I need to know that you have all of this in Your hands. I need to know that this is really what you planned for me. And actually, what that plan actually is. Because right now, with my human eyes, there seems to be no easy solution. There seems to be no easy way out. There seems to be no easy way in. So I'm stuck here in the door frame, on the edge of a knife. I know if I don't choose a side sooner or later, I'll be cut in half. I can already feel myself being cut in two. And there is no way off of this edge. The walls are closing in on me.

People keep telling me to have patience, but I feel like the longer I wait, the deeper the blade of depression and anxiety cut in, and it takes every ounce of my energy to pull myself off the blade. God, I'm waiting, but the waiting seems to drain the life out of me. I'm sorry I'm so impatient, but God, I pray that you would quickly show me which way to go. I can't trust my own judgement, because honestly, I only care for my survival now, not Your kingdom. God, I surrendered earlier that I wanted Your will, and not my will. Well what do I do when I can't hear your voice? What do I do when I can't tell what is my will or Your will or if they're the same thing?

Speak peace into the chaotic insanity in my head.

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But, Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!
Blessèd hope, blessèd rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.