[This a prayer/vent session taken straight from my journal… Please excuse the overuse of repeated words, commas, and run-on sentences. It’s not an attempt to be poetic, it’s just how my brain processes when unfiltered. Instead of trying to explain how I’m doing, I thought I’d just give you a peek inside my head. Show, don’t tell, right? That’s what they taught me in school, anyways.]
Sometimes I wish I could sit with you across the table or snuggle with you on a couch. I wish we could laugh over stories or movies or jokes. I wish I could see your expressions and hear your voice, loud and clear. I think it’s what makes it hardest to want to sit with you: silence.
But you’re not silent, per se; it’s more like you speak when you want, how you want. Sometimes it’s so imperceptible, I feel as though I’m making it up. Sometimes I feel like I’m just putting words to every whim and fleeting emotion. Sometimes I feel like I’m making something out of nothing, or reading too much into insignificant details. It’s infuriating, not knowing if and when you’re speaking, Lord. When I try and listen, I often come back empty and disappointed, my ears ringing with very loud nothing.
Yet, you’re perfect.
You’re completely self-sustained, all-powerful, creative creator. Lover of my soul: completely head-over-heels, to-the-death kind of love. A father who disciplines and forgives and knows me better than I know myself.
And I am just a child.
Learning and growing day by day to become more like you, yet still just a child. Naive and fearful and curious. I ask you questions you know better than to answer. I want things now, but you say wait. You give me the gifts I need, not what I want. In your infinite wisdom, you sit listening quietly as I pour out my thoughts and feelings. You wait as I figure out things for myself. You wait as I learn from my mistakes and come running back. You hold me when I feel most alone. You know that giving all the answers is not actually what’s best for me.
So you sit in silence, listening and watching and loving me as I stumble around this world, learning slowly and growing uncomfortably. That’s the way you designed it– a life of freedom and pain and sometimes silence. Because you, especially you, know that everything comes with a price.
