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I’ve heard this is the best time of my life.

I feel guilty for not being giddy-down-to-my-toes every day. I’m healthy and have a home and food. I’m in college studying in a subject I (supposedly) love, I’m getting married to a man I (definitely) love, I’m close to my family, blessed with friends and community-church, living in one of the most beautiful mountain areas on Earth that is my home since I was born…and I have the audacity to look up to my Father and cry. Tears. And say, “Why am I so tired? Why don’t you give me more of You? Why don’t You give me…more? I want to live better. I want to love better.” And I think, I think if I could see Him (“Why can’t I see You?”) He would look at me and say, “Do you love me?”

And there’s my answer.

He would remind me of the big picture, the weaving together of all these lives in one tapestry that holds the stars in its lining, and I’m embarrassed just thinking about it. My eyes have been haughty, looking for great and marvelous things that don’t concern me. I want – crave – a spectacular life, that changes things, and me with it, and I want to look back when dying and be able to list everything fabulously good about it. Maybe I could have the list graven on my tombstone, too, and grandchildren will say, “She was an amazing woman. She did so many incredible and exciting things. Number one…”

And is that a bad thing?

But is it a bad thing to simply pray for more, and to expect it handed to me on a silver platter?

I think I’m growing up. I still feel so, so young. Overwhelmed by all these adult decisions laid at my feet (with deadlines, mostly – I think that’s most of the adult world, deadlines, and cleaning up after other people’s deadlines).

And still the question remains: “Do you love me? Am I enough?”

I’m still holding out my hand saying, “What can I do for you today, God? Let’s deal, spit on it, give me something big.” What must we do to do the works God requires?

Jesus answered, “The work of God is this: to believe in the one He has sent.”

And I too would like a sign, some tangible proof I can show off, because I’m always wanting more. I struggle with contentment.

I struggle to be grateful to the Giver of all good things.

That is poor life, poorly lived. I am guilty, and then guilty for FEELING guilty, because grace’s message has been pounded into me like another commandment: You have no right to feel guilty anymore.

I know there’s something wrong with that but I still don’t understand grace. I still don’t accept grace with open hands, like when I used to stand under drips from a rained-on roof or melting snow from a tree and catch them in my palm or on my tongue. Just waiting for the next drop, sweet and refreshing and fun because it brings the taste from where it dripped.

I pray for grace tonight, and at the same time, thank Him for it…there’s already been such a river of grace in my life. I can’t even tell how deep.

I will go to sleep listening to Audrey Assad sing Restless…search for it on Grooveshark. It echoes this quote from St. Augustine:

“Lord, You have made us for Yourself and our hearts are restless till they rest in Thee.”


O LORD, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.

~Psalm 131:1-2


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