I long to cut myself to divert the pain from my soul.
My heart is broken and my spirit crushed.
The idea of death is bliss.
The Lord to me is like bitter water,
And a deserter in my time of need.
I turn to Him, yet feel mocked.
Acid eats my soul away,
My heart bleeds from stabbing after merciless stabbing.
My heart has no shield.
I am hunched over from the great weight of burden upon me.
I claim the Lord’s promises, only to be disappointed
One callous time after another.
For the first time since I’ve know Him,
Profanity pours out of my mouth.
I feel my heart hardening,
Yet this time I’m too hurt to let it stop.
My face pales as the life drains away in the strain.
I nearly faint out of weariness;
My flesh can’t take the punishment of my soul.
If my flesh were beaten to a pulp,
It wouldn’t compare to the ghastliness of this.
I look at my eyes in the mirror and see a frightened animal.
I can brush my hair, but I can’t hide the despair,
Torment, agony, and anguish in my eyes.
I call from my heart of hearts, “Papa!”
Yet the pain remains, the stabbing continues.
I don’t want pity from those around me; I want compassion.
The Lord feels cold and indifferent to my yelps.
Shrieks come from my mouth as the tears fall.
I hit my heart to urge the pain to stop.
I fall on my knees at the mercy of One who seems merciless.


Oh that my broken spirit would be healed!
My heart hardens against the Lord.
Involuntary bitterness bites my soul like a viper.
Such emptiness and loneliness makes me want to cry out in despair;
Yet I know it will do no good.
The Lord’s Almighty power becomes a weapon of the enemy against my mind;
He has the power to heal, and yet does not.
I desire what is not possible. I desire not to live, yet death holds no allure.
I wish the spiritual realm would not exist, yet I do not want to live in the physical.
Demons encircle me so that the Lord cannot be seen for who He is.
Resentment begins to fester in a mire of self-pity.
The tormenting whispers hasten “Curse Him! Curse Him! Curse Him!”
Deception seems as truth; the Word seems false.
Disappointments, weaknesses, and fears hound my senses.
The enemy has stolen peace and joy;
Now the unspeakable seemingly happens:
Hope itself is quashed in heart-wrenching agony.
Desire for the Lord is cut off; future ministry holds no appeal.
My manipulated heart embraces dark deception:
‘It’s not worth it!’ it cries.
I groan under a burden that crushes my being.
I try giving my yoke to the Lord, but it is seemingly refused.
As my soul receives crushing blow after crushing blow,
I murmur ‘I give in’.
And then a heavenly beam of light pierces the foul choking smoke as He speaks:
‘But I don’t’.


In a stern tenderness in which only Christ can speak, I hear:
You are to look to Me in hope, not analyze.
You are to seek Me in faith, not worry.
You are to adore Me in joy, not despair.


Doubt is doubt, and I am God.
Confusion is confusion, and I am God.
Self is self and I am God.


Be still and know that I am God.

                                               

The promise that joy comes in the morning has proven false to me
Too many times for it to be my hope.
And yet while I am too much of a coward to put myself into the throes of death;
I put myself to sleep.


In my turmoil, a ray of light enters my mind:
‘Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised.
For in all these things we are more than conquerors
Through Him who loves us.
For I am sure that neither death nor life,
Nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come,
Nor powers, nor height nor depth,
Nor anything else in all creation,
Will be able to separate us
From the love of God
In Christ Jesus our Lord.’


Oh Lord, do you really see my suffering?
Do you really hear my cry?
Do you really understand?
My weak body of dirt can’t take the brutal punishment of my soul.
My head throbs and pounds under the strain of a mind without peace.
My body becomes faint as it houses the burden of a joyless heart.
I believe with all my being that “the joy of the Lord is my strength,”
Yet I only know this from the trial of having no joy due to a lack of strength,
And no strength due to a lack of joy.
My body and my soul work in tandem
To thrust me into the cold emptiness of despair.
The pain of physical affliction creates an agony of heart that curses my existence.
And yet is it my constant bleeding heart
That has manipulated my body into succumbing
To the ravages of illness and suffering?
I’m scared to cry because I know I cannot take the strain.
And yet if I don’t, my soul will weep within me
In sobs of depression, heartache, and torment.
Lord, who am I to understand this?
What am I to try and fathom your will?
I am caught in a cage of confusion;
Unable to comprehend your promise
To work all things to good for those who love you,
And reconcile this promise
With your very best surely being freedom
From a worn out spirit and aching body.
And so I wait.
And whether at times I wait in quiet adoration
Or at others in shrieks of torment,
Upon the integrity of your Rock I will sit.
I am here Lord,
And in your unfathomable wisdom,
Unreachable love, and eternal power,
You will deliver me.
Yes, you will deliver.

                                               

When one’s heart feels like a pit of despair,
And feelings of emptiness almost consume;
It is then when the Lord refines His beloved,
It is then they are strengthened to overcome.

When depressing pain knocks at the soul,
And a room of people doesn’t take the loneliness away;
It is then the Lord looks over His child,
And steadies His watchful gaze.

When darkness seems to overcome the One in your heart,
And cares of the world look set to devour,
Then the Lion of Judah will let out a roar,
And strengthen His cubs at that very hour.

When one’s strength has failed,
And seas of despair swell in one’s spirit,
Then does the Lord impart more grace,
And weeps for His child.

When the stress of burden enclouds,
And life seems a meaningless maze;
Then does the Lord remind of His being,
And the great purpose He has set as your path.

When your soul feels like it is choking on smoke,
And weeds entangle the joy of God;
Then does the Lord blow His Spirit,
And becomes the gardener of the heart.

When one is angry but doesn’t know why,
When patience has dried and slipped away;
Then does the Lord unleash His anger on afflicting evil,
Then does He wash peace on those who call.

When one is at home but still seems lost,
When waiting upon Him doesn’t seem worth the cost;
Then does He lead to the path he has personally laid,
Then does thought of eternal reward and His love override.

Where the volume of one’s spirit seems stuck on loud,
And when tomorrow looks to be another miry cloud;
Then does the Lord send to your heart a song of praise,
Then does he beam a light through what seemed an unconquerable haze.

When continued grief rears its ugly head,
And one wonders if it would be better to be as dead;
Then does the Lord comfort with a steadying hand,
Then does His rock quash all sinking sand.

When His word seems like fairytales of old,
And when you’re seemingly condemned for being born;
Then does the Living Word enrapture,
Then your heart does His unceasing love capture.

When prayer seems too hard,
And your identity seems to waste away;
Then does the Lord understand and listen to the beat of your heart,
Then does He remind you that He has given you a new start.

When thoughts seem like encircling vultures,
And the prospect of sleep fills one with dismay;
Then into your mind peace does He lodge,
Then He reminds you that you are His child,
And He is the Lord, your wonderful God.

                             

Who is there that understands
The loneliness of a slow, deathly torment?
The grave calls out my name.
Hope itself seems bitter.
Grief unfathomable, heartache unending.
My soul weeps in agony.
I want to vomit the prospect of further living.
What life is there in this place of death, darkness, despair?
It takes every ounce of my being not to cry out against my Maker;
He who in my horror seems to allow only callous cruelty.
A swamp of curses consumes my innermost being;
It is victory incomprehensible not to curse Him and die.
I long for death; such is this place of living torture.
No bitter tears bring relief of the pain.
No thought of the future eases the aching emptiness that craves peace.
Uncontrollable hatred wells up and drains all strength;
Hatred of the past, hatred of the present, hatred of the future.
Only He who sweat drops of blood could understand;
And it is against He who my aching spirit is stirred.
As my body groans in physical sickness, my soul all but gives up on hope itself;
“Nothing is worth this!” my strained heart cries.
As my soul collapses within me, and Hell covers every sense,
I turn to the Word in my last ounce of strength.
And in the words of my Father I find the power to continue:
“Many a man claims to have unfailing love, but a faithful man who can find?”
The spark of the Spirit’s flame continues to flicker in my heart,
Renewed in the resolve to be one who is found faithful
And upright in the eyes of my Almighty God.

                             

A wheel of blades churns through my heart;
Pain erodes my soul.
I feel spat on when seeking comfort;
Kicked in the stomach when seeking grace.
Persevering is like climbing a slippery wall with a rope of thorns;
To reach the top is to be greeted with a slap in the face, and another wall.
Desire to live is crippled in torment; resolve is struck down in despair.
I seek the river of life and find only a river of tears.

To live is to breathe in heartache,
To breathe is to live in turmoil.
Insidious feelings steal peace;
Sorrow destroys life.
Crippling loneliness breeds despair.
Fear casts shadows on the future.
Striving strength morphs into wallowing weakness.
Perseverance moulds into bitterness.
Hope runs into walls of apparent injustice.

I see shadows of flowers rather than the flowers themselves.
Desire to approach each new day as a child does Christmas morning
Is blown away by agony of heart, confusion of mind, and a soul without rest.
I don’t choose to let fear grip my heart; fear chooses me.
Sweet dreams turn into a tortuous nightmare.

But the God of grace turns struggle into empowerment,
And curses into blessings.
For the joy of the Lord is my strength.
I will not let go; in Christ I cannot be moved.
He is water to my fire, and ointment to my wound.
He is a rope to my pit, and music to my silence.
He is my God.
I am His, and He is mine.
He is my God.

It is better to be in a deceptive forest of fear in the Lord’s embrace,
Than to live in the feinted pleasures of the world.
It is better to walk a cracked path of despair and trial with the Lord’s leading,
Than to roll down a wide road of fun and futility.

Hope in the Lord conquers all;
Trust in Christ’s integrity, not trust in one’s feelings
Leads to triumph.

If God seems as far away as East is from West,
If prayer seems unanswered and pleadings shut down,
If Christ appears to forsake the ones He loves,
If being trampled seems the fruit of following Christ,
Then it can be remembered His children are the center of His world;
Then it can be known that not a whisper is unheard, nor a plea not felt,
Then we can rejoice in paying the price of following Him,
Then it can be remembered that He died for me.

He died for me.

                                               

I’m languishing. I am in an empty ocean struggling with strength that has long since failed. I thrash about in the darkness of the deep, hoping beyond hope not to disappear into the murky water’s depths. I fight and struggle not to fall under this sea of despair, only to have wave after vicious wave crash over me. I cry out for help, but hear only the swell of the deep. I look for a rescuer, but see only sharks encircling. I’m engulfed by waves of horror, and punished by callous currents of mercilessness.

I resist the urge to curse my supposed rescuer, and brace myself to fall under this sea of separation forever. Another cursed wave envelopes me as I sink for the first time completely under the surface of this sea of suffering. As I sink into the clasps of death, a strong arm grabs me and pulls me to the surface. I splutter on the deck of a magnificent ship and glance up at my rescuer. “Well done my good and faithful servant” he grins. His regal stature betrays His royalty. A steely resolve replaces the look of anguish in my eyes as He lifts me to my feet. My rescuer puts me in command of the ship and departs.

I sail the seas as a Captain who has conquered. I ride on the crests of the waves in my ship of salvation. The ocean that once choked my throat is now beneath my feet. I scan the horizon and lift many out of the waters of turmoil. Now they too soak in the sun upon my deck, and look down upon the ocean of oblivion.

“How did you know we were in these waters of wrath?” asks one who was pulled out of the depths.

I point to the name of my ship: Love That Never Fails.

“Praise Jesus,” he says.

“Praise Him indeed!” I reply, as we pull a new crew member out of the ocean of emptiness.

                                               

About Leigh

I am proud to say that Leigh is my nephew. Some of the above was written when he was twenty, but both his spiritual maturity and depth of suffering is obvious to all who read his works. Leigh is now twenty-one and still suffering, and still believing that our powerful Lord will fully heal him.

Leigh is completing a degree course in Bible School, but as valuable as academic study is, it is as cardboard compared to the deep work the Lord is doing within him through allowing this seemingly endless trial. It is building character, perseverance, devotion, sensitivity and compassion into every fiber of his being. In years to come, many will envy Leigh’s powerful ministry, but few will have any conception of what it has cost him to reach those heights.