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It boasts a power it does not possess, turning my head away to bear up under it, even to breathe; startling me awake as from a dream. Deafening roar, it has not begun to still; drawing strength the more I fight, like the hopeless pull of sinking sand. Let go; He tells me, and I hold still tighter, determined. Already I have lost my will; forgotten will itself; receiving His alone, even as my hands are fists; closed and angry. Afraid. His cloak between me and the sting of its force; the wind in my ears becoming His Voice; Take my hand, He tells me; my own still frozen; paralyzed. Closed. Call to Me; He is pleading, and He alone calls... And with it peace, I am still; my head on His shoulder; it is not my power that holds me there; not I who draws this breath. Shadows casting down; light coming through the clouds. I watch them play on the ground below us. It is no longer the wind that carries me...

"In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know how to pray as we should. But the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groans too deep for words." ~ Romans 8:26

Mark 4:39

Talk soon. Cross my heart.

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