18I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. 19The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. 20For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope 21that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.
22We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. 23Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? 25But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
26In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. 27And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.
Is God Enough?
In times of waiting, we wait for someone or something.
In times of pursuit, we have a goal or a desire in mind.
All actions, all thoughts, all emotions, all desires have a purpose within our soul and spirit.
Who defines that purpose, or pursuit, our waiting period?
I write thousands of pages of my deepest thoughts, shelves are full of my very soul.
These books sit on display just waiting to be read, collecting dust, displaying their spine to a room full of distractions and despise.
There are desires, emotions, questions I have deep inside and on days when I'm not sure I can catch my next breath, I fear that I will swallow my deepest desires even deeper inside my soul.
How can some display their worth so boldly and yet others remain diamonds in the ruff.
Society values worth on display, fancy stages, sparkly lights, words elegantly printed on sheets of rich paper, a shallow base of value that only appears skin deep.
Is God enough? The one that reads my soul, the one who holds my heart in His hand when there are no lights, no stages, no words, and when my value seems to pale in comparison to all those around. Are my writings worthy of Him alone? Is my heart's desires understood when no one else will listen? Is His attention enough to give me hope when all seems lost?
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