I’m asking for grace to choose to believe He really loves me even now when I’m reluctant to bow low before Him and so hungry for my own glory.
But one thing I believe (God help me) is that His love is better than life. Self glorification is so fear-filled and insecure, nothing like the freedom that comes from confessing with my whole heart that He is good and I am not.
You really came to set me free.
You really came that I may have life and have it abundantly.
You really are the way, the truth, and the life.
Your love is truly better than life.
You discipline those who delight in.
Your love is steadfast, forever, wide, long, high, deep. And it will never fail me.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
it sounds more like a platitude than a prayer. But I do hope you’re well, separated as we are by mile markers and painted roads, oceans, craggy mountain ranges, lonely plains. Well. do you hear the longing in that? the lingering l’s? I wish I knew what you looked like now, though I don’t want you to see me. I’m learning a lot about myself, too much to say or summarize into sentences. I wish I could show you my mind. (I wish I could see my own mind.) I am thankful for borrowed words, for words written online and in journals, in the margins of used books. Thankful for words that resonate, the ones that leave residues inside my heart. (I come back to them.) Thankful for sentiments about silence because I too find myself unable to utter any noise. Understand me. I grow scared to spill words onto pages, each letter like a grain of sand or soot dragged and dropped across the wide expanse of white. The sky, too, is always white here. It’s hard to look up at it and wonder if the sun you see, that lone star, looks the same where you are. And the nights are dark and rainy; there is no moon. I’m growing here, learning here, sharing stories with strangers here. More listening than talking, I think. Speaking in silences… like I do to you. But I hope you’re well. I really do.