She is not here. She is risen.

Sometimes the burden gets so strong.

I feel it so much right now as I lay in bed up at 5am and am trying to fall back asleep.

Look don’t play me. I’ve felt other things. I’ve felt so much on the other end of feelings. Not godly “I-want-to-die-for-God” type feelings. I’ve felt intense lust. I’ve felt intense heartbreak. Laying on my bed. At odd hours. But this morning it’s different. I am laying here with a burning in my heart for Christ. Christ, the Miracle-Maker.

I’ve pushed away my comforter because it’s warm and I can feel the not-so-cool air on my skin. I smell of sweat.

I was sweaty in church today as I danced. And there’s nothing worth my sweat except the work of God.

This is my life’s ambition. I want to build a church for God in some country and see others get saved. Everything else is meaningless.

I really should have showered. But I willed myself to sleep because my spirits were too low and I was tired of thinking.

Thinking about my mission.

Thinking about my mission.

Thinking about my mission.

Unfortunately going to church on the required days and doing the required hours just doesn’t cut it for me.

I want more.

I want more from God.

I’ll have to die for God.

I’ll have to die for missions.

I’ll have to die with a tombstone that says something about missions. I’ll have to.

Otherwise life is meaningless.

And yes I have glorified the missions.

Yes I have exalted the office.

I’m sorry. It’s not that I despise the multiplying of bread or the walking on water. But I must die. If I don’t die, others will not be saved.

I must take up this cross. This one. Yes this one in particular.

I would love to pray. But it’s so far from me. So I write. I write all I have. All I should be praying about.

And I’ll sleep now. Hopefully prayer will come when I wake once again. Godwilling. If He gives me breath and life again. I’ll breathe out prayer.

And I’ll live out missions.

 

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