Standing Still

I find myself standing still.

Not literally. I actually hardly stop moving.

I just feel like I'm standing still. Never making any headway, never moving towards a goal, never getting anywhere but where I already am or have been.

Stuck, like my feet are sunk down in the mud. And it's not a good kind of squishy mud. It's the sticky, slowly sinking mud.

I'm stagnant. It sucks. My heart longs for more, my spirit thirsty. But I can't move. Or I won't. I don't know which.

Maybe it's like in that story, the one where the man looks back at his footprints in the sand. At times he sees two sets, glad to know Jesus is walking by his side. Then he notices there is only one set, getting upset that Jesus left him. No, Jesus didn't leave him. Jesus was carrying him.

Perhaps Jesus is carrying me. If I am moving, I know it is not by my own means.

Is it pathetic that I feel guilty for making Him carry me? Maybe He doesn't mind. But it'd be nice to not need Him to carry me. Maybe I should be glad He cares enough to carry me in the first place.

I long for the day I can walk beside Him again.