So I was in a mess and it numbed me. So often we are numbed by the world. But then, He broke through.

God is so good like that. We just cannot function, yet He doesn't care - he just wants us, our mess and heartbreak and pain, wrapped in the beauty He made us in. And He says He'll help us fix it. He'll wait for us to come to Him...wow.

So I was in a mess and numbed and going through the motions, and then God came to me and reminded me that He loves me so much, that He loves me more than life itself. Literally...He died for me. With Him, our brokeness is just broken walls tumbpling down to let Him in so He can heal us.

Double wow?


Here I am! Working with a tune and writing and rushing and expressing my exhuastion through alliteration that cheats.

I have been slack with the blogging lately. It's easier to copy and paste things than to actually sit down and THINK. Thoughts are a tangled up ball of stirng that sometimes seem impossible to unwind.

I am so tired. God help me.


'Tumbling ground' Kevin Prosch

Trying to find a place where I can hide away,
In the fountain of youth inside my mind,
Where old age can never find me.
Please excuse me, I'm not doing well today,
Trying to hide so desperately the darkness of my soul,
I'm an outworn heart in a time worn out,
I feel like I'm failing.
I'm being tossed about,
There's a hole in my trampoline,
I'm falling down.
And friendless near a thousand friends I stand,
Who didn't have a crumb of comfort,
Not even a grain,
You were all too busy with my praise,
The distances of loneliness how long they seem to be,
Almost perfect nearly true we want to keep,
I can hardly ever say my prayers,
Nor can I count a Bead,
Does that mean that I am failing?
They say that I am weak,
And the soil of my sufferings sucked my childhood dry,
Never grew the leaves of healing,
Will I be left to die?
On God's rough, tumbling ground, falling down,
On God's rough, tumbling ground, falling down,
Falling down.
Am I a prophet or a vagabond?
I am a father, not a commandant,
And I grieve for the loss of all the prodicals,
And fatherless near ten thousand fathers I stand,
A broken little boy with a promise in his hand,
Did you see the crown my momma crowned me with?
For he that made me bitter, he also made me wise,
though I wrestled for the blessing,
there was no love for me to find,
and the world's more full of weeping,
and I can never understand.
I'm in the place again,
where the heart gives up its dead,
There is a place where tears fall but they make no sound,
On God's rough, tumbling ground, falling down,
there is a place where tears fall but make no sound,
On God's rough, tumbling ground, falling down.