When empty pours.

Empty. Forget one last drop, forget the tiny little bit you're holding onto. Cause it's not there. It's empty. No more. Nothing. Nada.

empty.

And yes, I did mean to make it a small 'e' rather than capitalize it - it seemed fitting.

And yet today, I taught Sunday School, and it went well. I led a song service, and it did alright. I made it through yet another day and didn't dig a hole, crawl into it, and pray for the dirt to fall back on me.

It made me think of the widow woman whose little jug of oil was almost gone. She was going to feed her child and herself one last meal and then die. But along came Elijah, and next thing she knows, she's used the last of her oil, but for some reason, it's still pouring oil. And it didn't run out. Empty vessel, still pouring.

That's what I feel like.

Only it doesn't feel miraculous.

I get what RWK was saying to me in a comment on their blog. That maybe these times teach you something. Because I get it. I spend every waking moment telling God that I don't have any more left in me. I'm done, I'm gone, I'm dry. So dry it hurts. And then He dumps me out and pours oil for someone then sets me back down, still dry.

In church today, I was thinking about this after I had successfully completed a Sunday school class. And the song came to mind "Bring Your Vessels Not A Few". And I couldn't help but tell God that I'd rather be like that miracle of oil. Where one pot of oil didn't just keep pouring. But all the vessels that could be gathered were brought, and filled. Abundance.


Is this really the only way I could learn that without Him I'm nothing? Is this really the only way I could learn to solely depend on Him rather than myself? Is this really only way He can teach me all the other stupid painful things I'm thinking now? Really?

Someone on RWK's blog linked to an article about Mother Theresa. I read the article, and unfortunately connected with it entirely. But it nearly rips your heart out to imagine that she felt this way seemingly right up until she died. All those years. All those years? To feel like this? I don't know how she stood it.

More than anything, I just want to know that this has an end. That it won't hurt like this forever, that the emptiness will go away and He'll give me something, anything to replace it. I'm tired of being broken, empty, and hurting.
I want to know this is a tunnel and not a pit.