Thanks be unto Christ for springin' me out of the twilight zone. For the extraordinary measures He took to untangle this little sheep from the thickets of obscurity to 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 dogs can hear. In which case, I pray: I believe, Lord. Help me with my unbelief!)
And then I believe . . . again.