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When the fog lifts

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Open my eyes, Lord, so I can see the wonders of your love and the way you are working in my world. My vision is obscured. May way is unsure.

Dear one, trust me in the clouds and mist; in the descended fog, use your ears to listen.
Fog is nothing to me.

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Listen for me. Look for me.
I have something beautiful in store, if you’ll just wait for it.
Be patient with me. Listen with me.
I am working this out.

My glory is on the way.

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Punch holes in your fears

Fear hovers like fog.
It gathers, hesitates, stays.
We read what confirms.
See, I am right to be afraid;
I have reason to fear.

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Light dims
Pulling up our covers, to
our hideout, our cocoon, our tent.
Safety suffocates…
if not self imposed,
then self-perpetuated.

Punch holes in what frightens you.
Not with fists,
but with learning,
with truth,
with prayer,
by conversation with a trusted confidante.

Pepper your fears with puncture.
Then, look through them
to what they’ve been hiding:
the life God imagines for you.

Step into it.

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