I crave authenticity.
I feel it in my bones.
This world is harsh.
An aching heart has been my company.
I can not fabricate joy. I can not muster peace. I can not fake hope.
It has to flow from that place. It has to flow from that honest place of devastating sorrow.
It flows from the Cross. It flows from those wounds.
It's gut-wrenching, positively gut-wrenching to ponder this.
That, upon that Cross. That is my sin. That is my depravity.
That is my Savior.
The Man of Sorrows.
The most authentic man who ever lived.
The One for Whom my heart desperately longs.
For in Him, is Home.