Saturday, October 4, 2014
Missives to God
Sometimes journaling is the farthest thing from my mind -- it's the least task of my heart. At other times, my heart will burst or fail if I don't write down those things I need to sort out, those feelings that make me quail, those prayers I can't seem to utter any other way.
Today is one of those times. I don't know if I'll find my way through all the scarey, needy things of life I don't pour out my most wretched, angst-filled words to the page, to God.
God, I know will read my letter. He hears my voice as I write each line. He knows what I need to say, and He patiently waits for me to say it in the best way I know how. Somehow it feels to me, as though my prayers are better answered when they've gone up in a missive. They are directed, clarified, even when the heart uttering them still feels muddy and cold with dread or moist with tears of love.
And if He chooses not to answer them in the way I want, or if He shows me something different, or if He tells me to wait, at least my heart will have been revealed. He will apply a balm. He will give me peace. I long for that.
So today I journal.