” ‘Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,’ says the LORD of hosts.” -Zechariah 4:6
What comfort these words are to me, what comfort amid the relentless struggle to rise above the miasmic conundrum of a thousand thwarted instincts, a million repressed desires that daily clamor for fulfillment.
What might have I? What power? I am nothing more than a struggling soul, a writhing worm, a sentient being with an insatiable drive to survive…but for what? So that another day may come upon me, so that another day can open its jaws and work its purpose to crush me?
Were death to visit me, I would not flinch; were I to find his black cloak drawing over my face, I would not cower. Should the very blade of his sickle be laid with steady purpose across my throat, still I would not protest; for I have grown weary of the beating of my heart.
