The Healing Place

Sometimes, you can't seem to get out of bed even though you try so hard. You can't seem to make a decision because you're at a point where everything looks fake to you.

It's Sunday and you can't feel the tingles of going to church - not because you don't like church, nor because you don't like your pastor; not because you don't like your department; not because you don't have tithes and offerings; not because you want to be lazy - but because you can't just seem to.

Everything in your body is screaming violently at you. You try to listen to Apostle Femi Lazarus' teaching but it seems your ears are just too heavy to pick a single sentence. You try Pastor Lawrence Oyors’ and it's the same thing. 

You try your favourite song - Minister Dunsin Oyekan’s “Worthy of my Worship” and no, it's not just relating with your spirit. You're blank, you're tired, you're overwhelmed. You can't seem to move. You can't even seem to get a word out of your mouth.

You want to pray but you can't because the events that are happening in your life are so enormous that they're affecting your mouth already. You want to race to the bathroom for a bath, but the only thing that is racing right now is your sanity.

You can't do anything and then, the tears start streaming down your face, hitting your pillow hard. You can't stop them even if you want to because they're evidences of the the pain you're going through.

You keep crying and then, you can slowly get your words together. The only thing coming out of you is "Father." It seems to be the only antidote to your pain. It seems to be the only thing your mind can process. You keep saying it. You keep crying. You keep saying it. You keep sighing.

Then, you close your eyes and allow your mind to do the talking instead of your mouth. You say all you ever want to say. The quietness of the room seems to help you more. Barely five minutes later, you open your eyes and sit up in pain. You look around your room and sigh. Nothing feels alive there. You wobble to the bathroom and have a slow bath.

You pick the first cloth and shoes you find because your mind is barely processing anything accurate - in fact, just anything to cover your nakedness will do. 

You get to church and sit in the back seat because you want to be able to blot out if you feel like when the service is going on. Luckily for you, just luckily for you, the Usher let you be. The service starts and it's a worship of thirty minutes. The first five minutes is difficult, and you can't seem to gather your mind, soul and body to enter the worship. 

You keep looking around. You're just tired. You just came to church because staying at home all alone is unreasonable to you - not even at this point that you feel so miserable.

Ten minutes into it, you still can't join the worship. Then, you sigh and close your eyes. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve....

You lose count and your lips tremble. The next worship sends you kneeling on the ground and with your hands on the wall. You break down in tears. Tears louder and longer than the ones in your room.

You sing and cry. You keep singing and you keep crying. Then, you find your words - the very words you want to say to Him. You tell Him everything. How you're tired, how nothing is working, how you feel deserted even though you know you have Him, how you can't go on like this, how your life is looking like a joke because nothing is just working, how you keep having prophecies and visions with no manifestation.

How you're giving up, how you want to run somewhere, how you're losing your mind.

You scream on your knees, you hit the wall, you cry louder. It feels too much. Fifteen minutes after the worship session, you're still there. 

This time, you're not crying, you're not hitting the wall, you're not talking. You're just quiet. And then you feel a rise in your spirit. You feel a touch, nothing so big, just a little touch, little enough to fill you up. 

You exhale and remember the word He gave you weeks ago at the beginning of the month. You smile when He reminds you of it. You start humming allowing the rise in your spirit to grow stronger.

Then, you open your eyes and look upwards and you say:

"I trust you, Father."

And you just know everything is going to be fine. 

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