“You and Me, kid,” He said. “You and Me.”
I found comfort in those words until the full realization of what He meant hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything He spoke about me being enough and Him being More than Enough came back. Alarming. Powerful. Crushing.
The cost was displayed before me, and I’d already said “yes” long ago.
There’s no turning back.
“Okay, Lord. You and me.”
And I sobbed, because if I’m to be honest, I’m not sure if He’s More than Enough. I just want to believe that He is.
Recently, the word solivagant kept jumping at me. I knew it would mean something to me at some point, but I didn’t expect it to mean to me the way it would.
I’m at a point where I don’t understand what He has in store or what He has in mind, but every fiber of my being is still fighting to say that He is good. It’s hard to watch everything fall apart all around you and remain standing, because there’s a desperation within you, a rage, an ember that’s never going to burn out. I’m past the point of fear. This goes beyond determination, or even courage. I’m at the wilderness of necessity, and if He doesn’t come through for me, I will perish, but if I must, then I must.
So here I am, solivagant, walking on, hoping that at some point, He will open the doors of heaven for me, and I will hear a trumpet-voice say, “Ascend and enter. I’ll show you what happens next.” (Rev. 4:1)
“You and Me, kid. You and Me.”