I have seen the sick healed and the broken restored. My hands have been lifted. My heart has been bowed. I have prayed the fiery prayers of a woman in travail, and have sat waiting for the Lord to speak to me. Never have I experienced what I am experiencing now. There is a groaning, a longing, for my Creator that I cannot explain. This yearning is felt in my flesh, in the aching of my bones and in the inability to breathe deep.
I need Jesus. Not the Jesus that I had construed, but my Master that I sacrificially live for. My greatest desire is to walk and live in His will. Hearing His still small voice pursue me, I am coyly going home. This is the walk of the prodigal son. I am the daughter who had to figure it out in the midst of her slop.
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Keep writing! Write! Write! Write! You are better at this than you think.
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