Can you feel Him? He’s so heavy in my belly. He’s consuming every inch of me. And I don’t know what He wants. That’s where He dwells. Where the Holy Spirit lives. Deep in my belly. I’m sure you can feel Him. He’s so huge. So big.
He’s making me tear. I don’t know what it is He wants from me right now. But He’s so large. He’s all encompassing. Nothing is standing out so I’m not sure what His presence is about, right now. It’s not a premonition. Nothing bad, thank God. But He’s here and I don’t know why or what I need to do. Or pray for. Or pray against. Or who I need to tell something to. Or why He wants to dwell here, deep inside of my belly, right now.
Sometimes the air is so thick with Him. He doesn’t have a particular smell but He takes over my nasal passages and as I inhale, I smell Him. He’s thick like fog. He travels from my belly up into my nose. He’s so grand and thick and I don’t know what He’s trying to tell me. I don’t know what He wants me to know. Or do. Or see. I don’t know what He wants from me. He’s not saying. But He’s here. Right here. In front of me. In my belly. He’s right here.
I know I’m rambling. I know I am. I know I sound crazy, but He’s real. He’s living. He’s alive. Jesus is really and truly alive and living. Living inside of my belly. Sometimes He’s dormant. Then, like a sleeping volcano, He comes to life. With fire and gusto, He just shows up. Sometimes it’s for a purpose. And sometimes He just does. But He’s always, always there. Here. With me. In me.
Then when He’s shown Himself, He diminishes. His fire dulls. He retreats. The rumbling in my belly dissipates and His fullness leaves me. He goes undercover once again. The air becomes thin. The fog clears. I can breathe normally. My tears subside. I’m no longer full. His mission is complete. He made Himself known. He reminded me He’s always with me. Even when I don’t feel Him, He’s always here. Deep in my soul. Living within me. In my belly. I feel Him.
