There are those times when it seems everything in your soul urges you forward into something. You can really convince yourself of anything:
“It’s not a dangerous move.” “No harm will come from it.” “You have this liberty to take.” “It won’t be bad. It’s no worse than anything anyone else does.” “Take a break; take a load off.” “Let yourself go. Don’t be so rigid. Loosen up.” “It’s not so terrible to give in once in a while.” “If something goes wrong, it’s nothing you can’t correct.”
Resistance to these decisions brings nothing but self-condemnation and criticism. That’s not to mention what may occur afterwards with a despairing conscience. There is terror beforehand of what resistance will mean. The same terrible, convincing voice—that of the Adulteress herself—speaks as the Weaver invents a tapestry of gold-threaded lies, soft as silk: “Everything will be better once this is done. Whatever’s wrong now will go away with this.” And it’s painful to hear it. The Weaver pricks his thread through your skin with every cunning stroke matching every one of her cunning words. And what’s more painful is to really listen, and to know that those thoughts come from within, because you’ve let her in a little bit. The temptation isn’t yours to control, but you are held accountable for your reaction. What’s yet more painful is the pang of self-hatred and horror that whelms you when you give in to her words, when you let yourself be conquered by his threads, when you offer up your hands to receive the shackles of sin.
And then the tapestry is finished—bloody and golden, covering your heart. Grafted in is a picture of your own destruction in all its glory. The deed is done. You’re undone. The weight of Failure looms over your head in a sinister mirage. Failure is silent. He is threatening and terrifying, but says nothing. Guilt follows to keep you bloody and wretched, because the Weaver knows you have some strength available if he doesn’t send her. And if you listen to Guilt, he makes his threads long and strong, and he controls your heart like a puppet hanging from strings. The Adulteress leaves you to your death, and what she says is no longer enticing but seems necessary.
What will save you in those times? It seems everything in your soul has urged you forward into this doom. But there is one, waiting and biding his time. When he wakes he will show you what is good, and you will remember what is true. This one, with a still, small voice, will tell you what you need to hear. “Because you’ve failed this once does not mean you’re a failure. Because you have scars does not mean you’re too weak to fight. I can make you strong. I can remake you. I can clear away the ruins of your former self and make you new. I can give you a sword to cut the bonds of the Weaver. I can give you a shield to block his onslaught. I can give you a helmet to keep your mind free from the words of the Adulteress, if you remember. I can save you. I already have; you only need to take hold of salvation and walk the path to deliverance.” The voice of the Spirit is hard to hear.
If you really listen and obey, the Spirit will rise up like a mighty man. With a sword flashing he cuts away the threads and the bonds around your heart. He rages and thrashes against the walls of the soul that confines him. With his tears he dissolves your despair. With his shout he shakes the foundations of your heart. When his victory is sure, he breaks through your soul and the world to the God of hope.
He gives a battle cry and the light of heaven overwhelms the gap in the wall. The Spirit, who places Joy as a guardian against Guilt’s return, has crushed his opposition. Condemnation, who is also called “Failure,” that ominous shadow, has fled from the onslaught of heaven. Your soul is broken and your heart is torn, but the battle is won and the promise is nearly come.
Whence the light came also comes a rushing flood through the holes in the wall of your soul. It’s a flood of blood. It doesn’t seep in, but burst through the wall and erodes it, making each hole bigger. The power of its force pushes your heart around and washes away its foundation, which was set in place by the Weaver to make his throne in your life. The blood fills you, and then is drained away. What remains is nothing impure, and blood is the rightful foundation of the throne in your heart. The tapestry’s design is gone and washed white, though scars remain for your memory. As long as your soul is open and the curtain covering your heart is torn asunder, the light of heaven shines in and washes over the Spirit’s face as he sits on the throne. And in your hands, in your mind, you will hold his sword and shield—his words and his power. And on your head, about your mind, he will place a helm—the memory of the blood and the light and the power of the Spirit’s might.
These will keep the Weaver away. His cohort the Adulteress, however, is not so easily frightened. In her boldness she will remain at the walls calling out, begging you to lower your shield.
Even then, with her voice as clear as crystal, there are those times when it seems everything in your soul urges you forward into something you do not want to do. As much as you beg her to be silent, she will not listen. You must flee from her at all costs. If for a moment you pay heed to her words, your shield will slowly fall. Guard your walls, your mind, with utmost care. If ever the Weaver draws near, strike out with the Spirit’s sword. Flee the temptation. Fight the tempter. The temptation is your own lust. The tempter is a deceiver even of himself. You have been given what you need to overcome them.
Remember.
“It’s not a dangerous move.” “No harm will come from it.” “You have this liberty to take.” “It won’t be bad. It’s no worse than anything anyone else does.” “Take a break; take a load off.” “Let yourself go. Don’t be so rigid. Loosen up.” “It’s not so terrible to give in once in a while.” “If something goes wrong, it’s nothing you can’t correct.”
Resistance to these decisions brings nothing but self-condemnation and criticism. That’s not to mention what may occur afterwards with a despairing conscience. There is terror beforehand of what resistance will mean. The same terrible, convincing voice—that of the Adulteress herself—speaks as the Weaver invents a tapestry of gold-threaded lies, soft as silk: “Everything will be better once this is done. Whatever’s wrong now will go away with this.” And it’s painful to hear it. The Weaver pricks his thread through your skin with every cunning stroke matching every one of her cunning words. And what’s more painful is to really listen, and to know that those thoughts come from within, because you’ve let her in a little bit. The temptation isn’t yours to control, but you are held accountable for your reaction. What’s yet more painful is the pang of self-hatred and horror that whelms you when you give in to her words, when you let yourself be conquered by his threads, when you offer up your hands to receive the shackles of sin.
And then the tapestry is finished—bloody and golden, covering your heart. Grafted in is a picture of your own destruction in all its glory. The deed is done. You’re undone. The weight of Failure looms over your head in a sinister mirage. Failure is silent. He is threatening and terrifying, but says nothing. Guilt follows to keep you bloody and wretched, because the Weaver knows you have some strength available if he doesn’t send her. And if you listen to Guilt, he makes his threads long and strong, and he controls your heart like a puppet hanging from strings. The Adulteress leaves you to your death, and what she says is no longer enticing but seems necessary.
What will save you in those times? It seems everything in your soul has urged you forward into this doom. But there is one, waiting and biding his time. When he wakes he will show you what is good, and you will remember what is true. This one, with a still, small voice, will tell you what you need to hear. “Because you’ve failed this once does not mean you’re a failure. Because you have scars does not mean you’re too weak to fight. I can make you strong. I can remake you. I can clear away the ruins of your former self and make you new. I can give you a sword to cut the bonds of the Weaver. I can give you a shield to block his onslaught. I can give you a helmet to keep your mind free from the words of the Adulteress, if you remember. I can save you. I already have; you only need to take hold of salvation and walk the path to deliverance.” The voice of the Spirit is hard to hear.
If you really listen and obey, the Spirit will rise up like a mighty man. With a sword flashing he cuts away the threads and the bonds around your heart. He rages and thrashes against the walls of the soul that confines him. With his tears he dissolves your despair. With his shout he shakes the foundations of your heart. When his victory is sure, he breaks through your soul and the world to the God of hope.
He gives a battle cry and the light of heaven overwhelms the gap in the wall. The Spirit, who places Joy as a guardian against Guilt’s return, has crushed his opposition. Condemnation, who is also called “Failure,” that ominous shadow, has fled from the onslaught of heaven. Your soul is broken and your heart is torn, but the battle is won and the promise is nearly come.
Whence the light came also comes a rushing flood through the holes in the wall of your soul. It’s a flood of blood. It doesn’t seep in, but burst through the wall and erodes it, making each hole bigger. The power of its force pushes your heart around and washes away its foundation, which was set in place by the Weaver to make his throne in your life. The blood fills you, and then is drained away. What remains is nothing impure, and blood is the rightful foundation of the throne in your heart. The tapestry’s design is gone and washed white, though scars remain for your memory. As long as your soul is open and the curtain covering your heart is torn asunder, the light of heaven shines in and washes over the Spirit’s face as he sits on the throne. And in your hands, in your mind, you will hold his sword and shield—his words and his power. And on your head, about your mind, he will place a helm—the memory of the blood and the light and the power of the Spirit’s might.
These will keep the Weaver away. His cohort the Adulteress, however, is not so easily frightened. In her boldness she will remain at the walls calling out, begging you to lower your shield.
Even then, with her voice as clear as crystal, there are those times when it seems everything in your soul urges you forward into something you do not want to do. As much as you beg her to be silent, she will not listen. You must flee from her at all costs. If for a moment you pay heed to her words, your shield will slowly fall. Guard your walls, your mind, with utmost care. If ever the Weaver draws near, strike out with the Spirit’s sword. Flee the temptation. Fight the tempter. The temptation is your own lust. The tempter is a deceiver even of himself. You have been given what you need to overcome them.
Remember.
1 comment:
i dont know why im looking at this. i like you, we go to school together. i guess that is enough to say. anonymity is probably best. please know that some may be interested in you in ways which you arent interested, but im attracted to you because you have such a beautiful soul and...well i think you are amazing.
have a great break
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