I feel like a soft piece of chalk, scraped along the macadam. There’s a nub of me left. I thought maybe a full night of sleep would sweep up my crumbs into a mound and help me reabsorb myself, reform, be who I think I am (so much of me is scattered over the last few weeks…). But that’s not how it works. I don’t lose myself that easily, and the only way to gain myself is in You. And no number of kisses can satisfy a supernatural pica. So steer me from navel-gazing and sensuousness. And feed me Your flesh. Eucharisteo.
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
It seems You are giving me a second lease on this night. One of the girls was sleep-talking, and it shook me out of my drift toward unconsciousness. So I’m very awake now, and sick with exhaustion, but grateful (or trying to be) for the way you fish my soul of deep waters with the elusive bait of sleep. No matter how I may dissemble, I cannot remain agnostic when You call me out into starlight. I could wake an atheist, but I cannot sleep that way. THANK YOU for Your mercy. Forgive me of my pride and anxiousness to control, label, settle matters, and be safe. You are my only safety.
You surround me on every side.
Lord, I’ve already been talking to You, but help me talk more. And listen. Help me to pour out my complaints to You so they don’t grow into me and stunt me. This is a turning point. I want to grow. But I am hurt.
Why?! Why all these back taxes, complications, time Dad has spent, time we’ll both have to spend? Why did You let me go wrong for 4 years? Why debt?
Why have I been buying underwear at the thrift store, scrimping on groceries, saying no to social events, carpooling, budgeting, making old supplies stretch, eating expired food, tithing extra?
I’m trusting You to be gracious with my complaints. I think I need to see them on paper to remember how easy I’ve got it.
But it hurts to count the dollars every time I drive, to be relieved when I can’t go to an event, to count it a sacrifice to go to prayer meeting. To be afraid of seeming needy and dependent. God, I want to bless my parents. I want to send care packages whenever. I want to buy fresh fruit. I want to take friends out for coffee on their birthdays. I want an easel, and new brushes, and to be able to afford a haircut on occasion. Or to buy a new pair of shoes. I’m ridiculous.
God, I want to go out to the movies sometimes. Or buy a friend’s artwork. Or sponsor someone in a significant way. I want to own a house someday. I don’t want a man to save me. I want You to save me. I don’t want to be rescued out of ineptitude and a victim complex. I want to be strong and mature, to have something to offer. Not to be proud, but to be capable and confident. I’m afraid. I don’t know what I need. And I don’t want to decide for You what You are doing, but I want You to do it, whatever it is, and move in me, however You will, and make me able to trust You and worship You when it would be easier to curse and cry and give up.
Work a miracle here. Don’t let anything (me) get in the way of Your power and glory, of Your redemptive display. Have Your way in me.
Your kingdom come.
I am the Lord’s servant.
May it be to me as You will.
It’s lonely here. And so
w o n d e r f u l .
It’s Handi*Camp, and the place is alive with sweetness and the powerful transparency of need and care. This is partly why I love Handi*Camp and praise You for the “disabled”. The disguises are stripped away and what remains is humble and glorious. Also, they can sing and dance to Disney. This strikes me as a prophetic freedom. It was also what made me start to choke up, wiping out the shelves.
Saturday, July 1, 2017
Thanks for writing a romance that will not let me down, even though I might think I’ve lost everything, myself, even love in the process. This is bigger than me and my conceptions, and I will not be lost. Or if I am, I am leaning out over You, and I will fall into my greatest passion, purest desire, and truest dream. There are worse ways to extinguish.
Help me rely on You heavily this weekend. Because I am vulnerable and stupid. I might try to do this alone. Or I might forget to let You speak to me, love me. Save me from my waywardness. Continue to blow on the coals of my love, of my appetite for the holy.
Keep me fresh and sensitive to You, skin to skin. Keep me aware of all the ways You are wooing me, and shrewd to the wiles of evil. Do not let me be overcome. Unite my heart in awe, in worship, in obedience and love for You. In desire for Your fame and pleasure.
Please strengthen my hands, and imbue my arms with power.
And help me let go more often. Feed a multitude from these pieces