Let it die

Let Nothing Live in Me That Should Die…

Let bitterness die.

Let pride die.

Let self-pity, comparison, old jealousy, false identity, dead dreams, and soul-sucking expectations die.

I am tired of reviving what You have called me to bury.

I am tired of watering roots You never planted, tending vines You never blessed.

I have been nursing the wounds of offense until they became identities.

I have called survival faith, and fear discernment.

I have clung to the corpse of control and called it wisdom.

God, I’ve even called some of my scars “testimonies” when really…

they were just things I refused to let You fully heal.

Let it die.

If it’s not holy,

if it’s not fruitful,

if it’s not from You—

let it collapse. Let it rot. Let it burn. Let it go.

Even if it feels like I’m losing pieces of myself,

let the false fall off until only the true remains.

Let Nothing Die in Me That Should Live…

But Lord, breathe again on what You planted that I have smothered.

Breathe on the embers of my first love for You.

Resurrect joy.

Resurrect childlike faith.

Resurrect the boldness I buried beneath rejection.

Resurrect my voice—the one You anointed before I taught it to stay quiet.

Resurrect my tenderness, my wonder, my devotion.

Resurrect the dreams You gave me that I called “too much.”

Resurrect the tears I stopped crying when I hardened my heart just to survive.

Resurrect the worship that once flowed like rivers from within me—before I became too tired, too numb, too guarded to lift my hands.

If You want it to live, breathe life into it.

Even if it aches when it stirs again,

even if resurrection looks like agony before glory, let it live.

I don’t want to be a museum of past encounters with You.

I don’t want to be a graveyard of unfulfilled purpose or unhealed pain.

I want to be fully alive.

So do the holy surgery, Lord.

Put Your hands in the deep places.

Kill what must die.

Revive what must live.

I am not afraid of the dying anymore

if it means I can finally live.