A Two-Edged Hope

"We must come to accept and even honor our creatureliness. The offering of ourselves can only be the offering of our lived experience because this alone is who we are. And who we are--not who we want to be--is the only offering we have to give."
--Richard Foster, Prayer

There is so much in my heart right now--so much to say. It's so full, and I can feel it bubbling over already. It seeped into ten pages of my journal on the trainride home from Stuttgart tonight. It flowed into a two-hour conversation with my roommate. And it's currently coursing its way into a post... Maybe the moment when I have much to say is the same moment I should say nothing.

My voice hurts from writing. My throat aches as if I have cried out to Him audibly. If I had, would You have heard me more? If I groaned, would You listen? You are still to be praised. I will still praise You. I must. For You alone know me. You alone hear and recognize my voice. You alone know when I rise and when I lay down. You alone keep me from travelling alone, though the seat next to me remains free.

You are in Jerusalem. You are in Baden-Württemberg. You are in my heart. You hem me in from behind and from before. You--One full of grace and truth. There is freedom in You, and I will not choose mere emotion. I will not choose what I want if it is not what You want. I will not choose self-fulfillment... at least, I'm having a pretty strong moment here, and I don't want to.

How long, my God? How long will I continue to judge by a man's exterior? His verneer? How much am I missing in those around me? Help me to look--to really look--and to know how to respond actively, intentionally, lovingly to what I find there.

Yeah, life is going to go on--it must, and I'll feel tomorrow a bit less than I do today. But I will hold on to hope--the hope that I do, in fact, want You.