I am the Island... I am not the rock

A long time ago, in a land and situations far, far away, I wrote of our story. No longer am I the washed; I am now the island.

The tumultuous world washes around me. I am dashed, battered, and abused. The waves of depression and loss sweep around me. They strive to break me; to eat away the foundation upon which I stand. At times they flood over me, burying me in their turbulence.

Yet they are only moments...

I cling to my support while submerged, confident in its ability to hold me steady and guide me back to the light of surface...

I cannot breathe, yet I maintain belief in the temporal nature of that which assails me.

I have been promised that I will be subjected to nothing that I cannot bear. I look around; see my torment, and say, "My God! The confidence You must have in me to subject me to so great a foe!" The greater my torment, the greater my hope, for my Lord does not make promises he does not keep.

And thus I am thankful for the billowing waves.

I am thankful for trial.

I look beyond my struggles; I gaze through them to the promise they wish to obscure.

I am the island. I am not the rock, I am but frail. Yet the rock is my foundation, and to Him I will cling.