I feel that same strange fire again. I feel aflame, but I can see the ashes forming. Scorched land, scorched again. O, but I want my warmth to be good, to be genuine! I am no life-giving sun, only a burnt-up tree turned to charcoal.
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It feels impossible, O God. How can I live now? How can I sleep? I can see my sin, but feel helpless to lay it to rest. Shall it get easier? Or harder?
What shall I do with my sinful heart? I will lay at the cross of Christ, and trust my Saviour sees, knows, loves.
Who else shall I turn to for salvation? I am made holy, whole, in Christ alone.
butwhoeverdrinks 