All this week, I’ve been waiting, and patiently I might add for God to inspire me as to what to write. So far I’m empty handed. The last day or so the desire to just write is stirring within me. Is God asking me to just jump in with the words, and he’ll add the spice later? This kind of waiting, this dependence on His providence reminds me of Hannah, or even the widow of Zarephath who didn’t think she would have enough oil and flour to last herself and her son.
I haven’t heard from God.
His voice stays behind the grill, as I come empty-handed to prayer. I tell him the same thing and wonder if it makes any sense to keep praying the same thing. I don’t think I have anything to give, but maybe this waiting will show me that I do, in fact, have something to display. Not in the physical sense that we expect, but an offering at that. I’m waiting for faith to emerge, but the work is thankless and I want to give up.
When I get discouraged, I am trying to remember to ask him to help me to trust him. Mentally, I will go through what I do have through His blessings. Sometimes I want to go back to my old ways of doing stuff, but I’ve noticed that I can’t. That part of me can’t bend like Gumby would, instead of raging, I breathe and lean into Him. I am learning how sturdy he is.
Normally, I won’t look back, but maybe by turning around that I will see what God sees, and my vision will clear. The road will open up to greet me and invite me into mystery of this journey that I don’t understand, and struggle to make sense of. I have learnt by experience it is better to follow than to try, and find all the answers that are suspended in His silence.