It is 5:00am. For hours I have tossed and turned, searching for relief from my pain. I find none.
I detest, I loathe my body. This is strong language, yet it is the secret that I carry of abhorring my very being. Fighting bitterness over disappointment and despair of a body turned against me. It rebels. I have little control. What hope is there? What reason to push on and fight for another day?
At 5am (as I wait for dawn after a painfully slow night) it is difficult to see any. Yet I must go on. I must fight. I must wage war against my flesh. I refuse to let me body win. I refuse to be captive to it. I refuse to let it suck all the joy from my life.
Dualism. I am more than simply a physical being. I have a soul that can never die. While my body languishes away, my soul can be filled aplenty as it gorges on God's grace and faithfulness.
