Thanks be to Christ for springin' me out of the twilight zone . . . for the extraordinary measures he took to disentangle me from the thickets of obscurity and carry me home.
Jesus, you are who you say you are. I am who you say I am.
I believe. (Except for the times I collapse in a heap on the floor and wail from a place so painful and desperate and raw that I make sounds only the neighborhood dogs can hear.) In which case, I pray:
I believe, Lord. Help me with my unbelief! (Mk 9:24)
And then I believe . . . again.