(Written on July 30, 2012 in my journal)
Yes, well over a month since I last wrote in my journal.
Of course I did writing for the PWAP newsletter. And business emails and such.
But not real writing.
Not writing directed to - and listening to - You.
You know where I'm at, Father.
You know my questions (like that book about "Christian universalism" and such...)
You know my sorrows.
You know my wonderings.
You know I want to give everything over to You, and trust You, and take life one day - one moment, one step ... or even long waiting ... - at a time.
And You know how hard that is for me.
You know how I keep dabbling in things. Like in that old poem:
As children bring their broken toys, With tears, for us to mend,
I brought my broken life to God, Because He was my friend.
But then, instead of leaving Him, In peace, to work alone,
I hung around and tried to help With ways that were my own.
Finally I snatched it back and cried, "How could You be so slow?"
"My child," He said, "What could I do? You never did let go."
I'm sorry. I'm afraid. I'm hurt, too, and angry, probably.
Please, please, please help my family.
And forgive me for being such a failure ... as a daughter, as a wife, as a mother, as a grandma, as a teacher, as Your child.
I know You love me.
Do I turn from You sometimes?
But You at least know what's going on.
It's hard for me to not know.
But maybe it's for the best, too. Maybe some things are better not to know.
And I can't fix everything.
(And my back hurts. And I'm so tired. And uncreative. And don't even feel like reading anything that takes any thought... like Your word.)
(And everything I read lately just seems to go in one ear and out the other, anyway).
I am tired (and sad).
But not really discouraged.
Amazingly, I do believe You have it under control.
But I can't seem to just leave it and not think about it.
Because I am lonely.
My heart hurts so much.