How long Lord?

HOW LONG, LORD?

How long must I wander this wilderness within?

A stranger in my own skin, haunted by echoes of a life I thought would be mine.

My mind turns traitor, sowing shadows where light once danced. I drift like a ghost through hollow ruins, Grieving dreams that never grew beyond fragile buds.

You say You’re close to the brokenhearted —

then why does my chest echo with hollow loneliness? Why do my prayers sometimes return to me like birds with broken wings,

crashing at my feet?

And yet…

I remember.

I remember the God who weeps —

who stood at Lazarus’ tomb and let sorrow roll down holy cheeks, who did not race to resurrection but lingered

in the agony of loss so I’d know He understands.

I remember the Spirit who kneels beside me in dust and silence,

groaning deeper than words, carrying my heartache into the chambers of the Almighty

when my own tongue fails.

I remember the Christ who stayed on that cross,

who could have come down —

but stayed.

For me.

You have been faithful in every valley I’ve despised. You have been near in nights I only wanted fixing, not fellowship.

You held me when I didn’t want holding,

loved me when I couldn’t love myself,

stayed when I would have run.

So here I stand — trembling, tear-streaked, but still. I will stay.

Not because this road feels gentle,

not because the ache has lifted,

but because I know You stayed first.

Because You remain when all else falls away.

Because though I am weak,

Your steadfast love is a fortress

that will not let me go.

So I’ll plant my feet in this holy grief,

lift my face to the sky that still whispers Your name, and wait — not alone, never alone —

for the day You turn these ruins

into gardens yet unseen.💙