Dear You,

January 22, 2018

2016_06_04_glacier_point_sunrise_over_halfdome_web

Glacier Point, Yosemite National Park

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.
The words of my mouth reflect the refuse in my heart. The nettles of my tongue come from the hurt I never brought to you, the hurt that has devolved into a rotting, fetid mess under my care. I have eagerly killed in my heart. As I alternate between justifying myself and hating myself, I’ve learned how to hide and construct barriers. Because sometimes being alone isn’t about protecting myself but about protecting others. But you know me and yet you have not turned away…you are familiar with all my ways. 

You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand on me.
You bid me rest and quiet my soul. There is no longer anything to fear for I am safe with you. Breathe. There will be things I won’t understand so I must learn to trust the peace you bring; some knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty to attain. 

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
My soul has grown numb, God. I spent too much of my time with people I didn’t care for and brushed aside the ones I do. I spent too much of my heart pursuing love and affirmation, yet forgot that you relentlessly pursue me. I have made my bed in the depths, begun to settle with my sin and my dirtiness, but you are there…your right hand holds me fast. I’ve been running from you. I’ve been hiding from you, out of shame, out of anger, out of rebellion, out of distrust and hurt, but my darkness is not dark to you; the night shines like the day, for darkness is as light to you. How can this be? 

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
You knew who I’d be. The ugliness of my sin does not surprise you, the shape and state of my heart do not repel you. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. You saw me and still decided to give me life, to write a story for me.

Dear You,
I’ve been struggling. I have become dissatisfied, you see, with the way I’ve been living. More specifically, I am dissatisfied with my relationships. I’ve gotten so used to flaccid conversations and topics; somehow the insincerity of it all didn’t breach my subconscious. But now I see it clear as day: people don’t care past their own interests, even if that interest is one of self-preservation in a socially awkward moment. So they’ll ask me how my car is doing but not care to hear how scared I was when I lost control. They’ll ask about my day or my week out of formality, but not because they genuinely had even the slightest interest in listening to how a new immunotherapy drug works. Since I’m pointing fingers, I must consider if I have just become guilty of hypocrisy.  I realize it would be impossible for that to be untrue. I know I’ve had my fair share of doing things out of obligation or societal norms.
But as I was stranded on the side of the highway with a dying phone and a mounting sense of panic and fear, I came to realize that only one of my many relationships had any real substance –only one person called and checked up on me throughout the night. I do not want to discredit my parents and their significant roles in that time of crisis, but what I’m trying to say, God, is that I’m extremely disappointed and I’m very tired. I’m tired of collecting pretty things that turn out to be empty. I’m tired of wanting people who don’t want me, and I’m tired of people treading on my heart when I offer it.
Why couldn’t I just be satisfied with you?

God, it is hard to love your people. God, I do not have the capacity to keep this up on my own. Help me to surrender this all to you. All for you. Let this psalm be ever on my heart…because I am tired of running and hiding from a God who will find me every time.

M

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