I am here, Lord. I desire you, yet our communion is incomplete. My heart-storms keep us apart. Pride stifles my loving you. Self-doubt haunts me. I sift through negative thoughts, unspoken lusts, past hurts, and I wonder why you still love me. Chaos seems to be our shared tea. My life drama preoccupies my prayer. I am here, at least the parts of me that are ready to find you on my rough sea.
When you withdraw, I want to find you and hold you. I want to rest my face on your chest to comfort us both. I have heard the haters speak ill of you. I have seen the rage the demons have for you. I know them because so often the perceived demons are within me. I am blind to my own life.
I was part of the crowd that pressed in on you, longing to see your eyes and feel your body. I am sorry you felt crushed. My eyes could not comprehend the healing of the paralytic. His crutches were sold for bread. I still weep recalling the child you healed in his mother’s arms. I desperately want to feel what that child felt, to lay my soul again upon the kindness in your eyes, to smell your presence. I will continue to press into your tenderness.
People with great need speak from their brokenness. They don’t hide from you. The demonic, the blind, the pained, all reveal your authority. I hear them speak for me. I want to be among those who know you.