His Intimate Touch

Sintimateometimes a well of sadness deep within me opens up with no provocation and spills out through tears from my eyes. I don’t have a reason for why or when, and I can’t stop it. I just run to my Father and let Him touch it. I tell Him of it, not through words, but by my heart cries. He tenderly touches within me a place I cannot see or even fathom, and a healing oil covers me, and causes my fears and sadness to slowly subside a little bit more. He hasn’t told me what it is or why it’s there – we just both know that life has left it’s imprint and wounds take time to heal, whether self-inflicted or not. He is able and mighty, He is the lover of my soul and spirit. Transition and renovation go hand in hand. They are exciting and refreshing and painful.

Cover up and dry up this well, Father. Finish turning my mourning into dancing. Remove my sackcloth and clothe me with joy.