Dear God, This is your daughter. I am writing instead of talking because my voice is gone. It’s lost somewhere inside of me, in the midst of the violent storm raging. I try to speak to you but I can’t find the words. My heart is aching with emotions that I cannot name. My throat is closed up with what feels like years and years of unshed tears. Which can’t be…because I have done nothing but cry this year, and the year before that. I have done nothing but sob in that deep agonizing animalistic way that has terrified even me. So why do I still feel like there is more inside that needs to come out? I want to talk to you, but then I say to myself, “you already know where I am, you know how I am, you know why I am, is there any need to speak to you?” I want to blame you for this fire, for putting me in front of this mirror and making me look at this reflection. I want to blame you for putting me on this wine press, for pressing on me and
Life through the eyes of a growing Christian choosing God's word over everything else.