I have often thought about my life, here at the end of my rope. It's a good place to be, really, at the end of myself. A place so lifeless that either the Lord shows up or my heart ceases to beat.
My heart is still beating.
At the end of my rope is a frayed knot. It started rough, many pieces of jute twisted together and tied to prevent unraveling. Over years, the sweat from my hands clinging to it has changed it to a nearly solid ball. The end is fraying, but the knot is sturdy. At first, it cut into my hands, leaving blisters and sore spots as I struggled to maintain. But, while it has become smoother, my hands have become tougher. There is little struggling now, just hanging on while I wait for the Lord to show up.
That frayed knot also my answer to a lot of the little nagging questions that hound my days.
"Fallen off the end of your rope yet?"
"Ready to give up the good fight and just quit trying to find reasons to live one more day?"
"Aren't you scared by the thought of how you will make it through the troubles you're going through right now?"
So, I swing on the end of my rope, hanging onto the promises of the Lord by this frayed knot.