For years, I wrote of learning how to walk,
Of following the Master of the waves,
Of choosing to obey instead of balk,
Of trusting in the God who loves and saves.
But I misdiagnosed anxiety,
Embracing fear as if it was the Lord.
I was a slave to scrupulosity.
My death was unto him but was untoward.
But light was shining though I could not see,
And love was better than I ever dreamed.
In time, he led me through and set me free,
And all that I had broken he redeemed.
I lost my hold but still was held by grace.
Through suffering, I better learned his face.

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Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash